Fabulous in Tardis Blue
by MaeEmma
Summary: The boy who waited- waited thousands and thousands of five minutes for a silly imaginary friend. But when Kurt's Raggedy Doctor and his big blue box found itself in Kurt's yard for the second time, he's starting to seem less and less imaginary.
1. The Eleventh Hour Part One

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Glee, and I do not own Doctor Who. I fear if I owned either of the two, neither would be as beautiful.

A/N (Feel absolutely free to skip it):

So this is, rather simply, Doctor Who and Glee mashed together in a beautiful mess of beautiful beauty, if we're going to use varying adjectives. Because Kurt is just a star companion and feel as though we, as a fandom, have neglected the beauty and fascination that is Companion!Kurt by not exactly having any fanfics of the sort. Of course, I didn't look at anything before Kurt and Eleven. But I am very attached to Eleven, and Kurt and Eleven are just sort of... beautiful together. But not in that way, of course. Must I remind you my darlings Kurt and The Doctor are of a different species? Tsk tsk. There will be sufficient amounts of, yes, Klaine, in this story, Blaine taking the place of our beloved Rory.

Now, I must apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling/obvious mistakes I can assure you I _will _make at one point in another in this story. I mean, I'm trying my best, I promise, but I am a flawed human being. Not some sort of dandy and dapper fictional character, even though I wish I was and I (of course, in the world of make-believe) date a few from time to time. Also: my dear British readers, you loyal Doctor Who fans, I am only American. Which sort of means Kurt had dumbed down all your British lingo for out own silly little American lingo here. I'll admit- the first time I saw The Eleventh Hour I asked my best friend what a 'fish finger' was and she smacked me upside the head. And if she's reading this about now, that wasn't appreciated. Anyway, here in da' States we call out fried, breaded haddock 'fish sticks,' because we aren't metaphorical enough to resemble out fingerless fish to fingers.

So, yes, yay, life is peachy. Very peachy. So peachy, in fact, it's almost Kurt-level fabulous.

So that was irrelevant. But that's okay. What I really wanted to say was: review? I know I'll be putting enough on here to get through The Eleventh Hour (which in case you haven't already noticed, is split into parts, this being one of many), but I'm curious to see if I'm liked enough to see if I should write to the rest of series five, very possibly, even series six as it goes on right now. I pretty much know what I'd do for every episode in my head and be happy to write them if people we read- unfortunately, Amy's Choice could be a tad bit hard to write. Because last time I checked, getting guys pregnant is sort of hard.

Okay. I suggest you read now. I imagine you didn't come here to read my long speeches about whatever I've been babbling about. I'm too lazy to even go back and read this Author's Note. Call me lazy. Of course, then I may be insulted, but still.

Anyway- here was have part one. In which we have a six year old, adorable Kurt.

**The Eleventh Hour: Part One-**

* * *

><p>"Dear Santa," Kurt whispered in the silence of the room he sat alone in, squeezing his eyes shut as he kneeled down, his hands together on top of his bed. He saw people do that in church that one time when he went to Mommy's funeral. "Thank you for the Power Ranger dolls. But Daddy says to calls them action figures… he wasn't very happy with Aunt Mildred when she called them dolls. Can I call them dolls? Aunt Mildred says you play wedding with dolls, so doesn't that make my Power Rangers dolls?" He wondered, tilting his head as he thought about it. "Action figures sounds funny, I like dolls better." He decided.<p>

"I know Easter's next month, and I don't mean to wake you. But it's very, _very _important, Santa."

Kurt brushed a lock of brown hair from his forehead where it tickled his fair skin. He squeezed his eyes tighter, not opening them even though they were starting to hurt now. In church, everybody closed their eyes. Kurt really wanted Santa Claus to hear him, so he had to make sure everything would work.

"Santa, I know Christmas already passed, but can I have one more thing? Only one thing. I won't be greedy." Kurt promised.

He glanced behind him at the pale green walls, a lamp ominously illuminating the thin crack behind him. He felt a shiver the space heater on the other side of the room couldn't prevent no matter how close Kurt inched to it. Only moments after his glare was locked on the long crack, he remembered his eyes were supposed to be closed, and he shut them back up tightly.

"It's the crack in my wall, Santa." He whimpered the fear in his voice excruciating.  
>"It's scary. I want it to just go away. It's giving me bad dreams. It makes funny noises, too; it talks to me all night. Daddy says he'll get some stuff soon and cover it up, but it's taking him <em>so <em>long. He said not to be scared of it; it's just a silly old crack. But it's not, I know. Maybe… maybe you could send someone to fix it so I don't have to wait for next Christmas? Like a fireman? Or a police-"

His shaky voice was interrupted by a loud crash outside, and a funny sound that was almost like when you spin a stick around really fast and it makes a whizzing noise, but louder. He didn't hesitate to open his eyes this time, and he ran to his window, standing on the tips of his toes to see out the high window of his basement bedroom, his fingers clasped tightly on the edge of the shelf beneath it.

Something outside, a big blue lump, had crashed into the tree outside, the one with the tree house on top, now in pieces. He didn't panic, though: he never even used that tree house his daddy made with him last year. It was cramped and every time he touched it, he got splinters, even through his Mommy's old thick, leather gloves. Even when he'd had helped his father build it (mostly by force) he'd spent most of the time playing with crayons across the yard and occasionally plotting out the 'interior design.'

But, even if Kurt didn't care the slightest bit about the loss of the tree house, the car was a little nerve-racking. Kurt saw silly people drive into telephone poles on the television all the time. Daddy called them drunk, but really, they just looked confused and happy. After Mommy disappeared, Daddy got silly a lot. He didn't drive into any telephone poles, but he swore at the racing cars on TV and let Kurt stay up really, really late and eat all the Popsicles he wanted.

The tree didn't fall, and in fact, from Kurt's perspective (unreliable, probably, being it was blocked by the sunflowers planted outside his window), the tree itself looked unharmed. Only the tree house and the flimsy branches surrounding it were damaged- almost like the thing had come out of the sky. Maybe the big blue lump was really an airplane.

Kurt dragged a chair over from his desk, putting it under the window so he could stand on it and get a better look. Kurt had completely forgotten about Santa and his new Power Rangers, his mind distracted with the curiosity of the situation.

But you know what they say- curiosity killed the cat.

Kurt felt the tiny wooden chair protest against his dainty seventy pounds, one of the legs wobble under the weight that was mostly his heavy Spiderman flannel pajamas and thick layers of Dove conditioner in his brown hair. He could see out the window much better now, but the glass was still foggy with frost and in a tiny, single inch of dusty snow over the remains of dying sunflowers that had been lying there ever since the dawn of winter months and months ago.

He pulled the window open, biting his soft lip in determination. The old window squealed with complaint, but Kurt budged it open, a draft of cold air and a handful of dirt welcoming itself inside Kurt's room. He frowned at the icy rocks that fell on his floor, but as much as he despised the contrast of dirty brown on almost-sterilized-looking bright white, there were more important matters at hand. He shoved his tiny head out the window first and shimmied out the slim window, using the shelf he'd effectively removed of Beanie Babies as support, until he was sitting on the dull, dead sunflowers, brushing dirt of his shoulders, and buttoning the top three buttons of his pajamas to help warm himself from the significantly colder temperature outside then in his room. He startled a bit when the old window slammed itself shut, making a loud band and adding to Kurt's shivers.

His eyes wandered the bright stars, seeing not a cloud in the night sky. He smiled. He liked these kinds of nights, beautiful, clear, and pleasantly brisk. Even though he had goose bumps all over his bare arms, he enjoyed the midnight breeze and the dimly lit landscape, hideously, wonderfully ominous and refreshing. But he reminded himself of the reason he wasn't under his cozy blankets, and found himself running towards the big blue box with plumes of smoke emitting from it.

Kurt's bare feet felt numb with cold under the melting snow as he ran across the front yard, and leaves and branches from last fall dug into his soft, baby-fresh skin. He wished he'd worn sneakers- slippers, socks, _anything- _as he winced at the little stems that felt like push-pins on his unprotected feet_. _With a short glimpse at his feet, he noticed their bright pink complexion and memories of frost bite whizzed around his head. More memories of stepping of bugs and having icky bug guts all over his bare skin in the summer, but frost bite, too.

He neared the large blue box, noting this thing was obviously not a car. It lacked wheels and even the shape to define it as a car. Maybe it _did _fall from the sky.

Wood was scattered all about the blue rectangle on its side, and the tree house above Kurt's head was barely any longer recognizable as a tree house. Kurt walked in a small circle around the thing, his hands behind his back as he inspected the mysterious box. He noticed the words "Police Box" on the top of the thing, (he was always extraordinarily skilled with reading,), lit up with a yellow light that illuminated the clouds of smoke about it. He jumped back as the thing opened, feeling like he'd done something horribly wrong to disrupt it as smoke plumed up from the now open doors on the roof of the box.

Kurt felt his heart thump in his chest like it was trying to escape as a rope flew out, latching onto a tree branch next to Kurt's on foot. Was there a monster in there? Was it trying to get him?

Daddy said the movie he'd watched about aliens last week was make-believe. But this didn't feel much like make-believe anymore.

Kurt held his breath, his eyes widening to the point they were at risk of falling out of his sockets. He stepped backwards, tripping on a piece of debris from the tree house when he saw a hand come out, clutching the side of the box. He fell on his back, arms flailing. Rocks dug into his back and he felt like crying in fear. He didn't want the thing inside that box to get him. He was only having a nightmare though, another one from that silly crack in the wall that didn't exist, right? Right?

Well, why couldn't he wake up when he frantically pinched the skin on his wrist? How come he only winced and the box didn't vanish as his eyes fluttered open and he stared at his bedroom ceiling with the glow-in-the-dark stars?

Kurt couldn't take his eyes off that hand clasping the edge of the box, and felt his unsteady breath hitch when another hand joined it, probably of the same body, and then- a face.

Kurt stated at the man in front of him, feeling like vomiting over his own pajamas. His insides knotted, but were released when the man gave an innocent smile, shouting in the silent night, "Can I have an apple?"

Kurt stared at the man blankly as he nodded to himself, his head excitedly bobbing up and down from the safety of his box, "All I can think about. Apples. I love apples."

The man looked ecstatic, his wet brown hair falling in front of his face as he looked up from the box at Kurt. "Maybe I'm having a craving! That's new… never had cravings before."

The man struggled as he picked himself up, climbing out of the box. He seemed extraordinarily excited, smiling as he stopping to sit on the narrow edge of the box, one leg still in. "Whoa! Look at that," He said, smirking as he looked down into the box, billowing clouds of smoke that must have been blocking his view of whatever was inside that little box.

"Are… you okay?" Kurt mumbled, still sitting on the ground. He wasn't quite sure what he was asking. He meant for it to be about the box crashing, bringing down his tree house with it, but a lot of it was asking about his sanity.

"Just had a fall," He explained, still giddy as he climbed out of the box, sitting on the side now with both legs out. "All the way down there, right to the library. Hell of climb back up."

"You're- you're soaking wet." Kurt observed. The man was drenched, his hair wet and his blue shirt stretched from the water it was containing.

"I was in the swimming pool." He clarified.

"You said… you said you were in the library." Kurt noted, not taking his shaky eyes of the mysterious man. He was extremely confused: how was the man at the library or the swimming pool if he was in a claustrophobia-inducing police box?

"So is the swimming pool." He explained as this was all very obvious. Kurt bit his tongue, not wanting to say anything because he knew he wouldn't get a very good answer. He was dreaming, anyway. Dreams didn't make sense.

"Are you a police man?" Kurt wondered aloud, remembering his wish to Santa.

"Why?" He asked, leaning in on Kurt, still sitting on the edge of the box. "Did you call a police man?" Kurt noticed his heavy British accent. No one he'd ever met before in Ohio had a British accent; he only knew what it sounded like from the television. Maybe this man wasn't from Ohio. Maybe he was from the North Pole… did they have British accents in the North Pole? Kurt knew they did in one movie.

"Did you come about the crack in my wall? Did Santa send you?" Kurt asked, getting a little eager. He stood up, brushing the dirt of his back, feeling much more comfortable around the man now that he knew he must be here to help him and get rid of the scary crack in his wall.

"What cra-" He started. He'd jumped off the side of the box, miserably failing as he rolled about on the ground, his head smashing into a small rock. He had worse balance then Kurt's father, and that was surely saying something. He didn't know if he wanted someone this dizzy fixing his room.

"You alright, Mister?" Kurt asked, tilting his head in concern.

"Fine," He declared, sitting back up as he waved his arm around, sounding like he was very much in pain as his breath was almost stuck inside his chest. "I'm okay, this is all perfectly nor-" He began before stopping midsentence, clutching his stomach. He coughed, and out came a golden, sparkly dust that made it look like he'd been drinking craft glitter.

"Who are you?" Kurt whispered, stepping back. Why was this man so hurt? Why was he coughing glitter and why did he seem so okay with it? Kurt's eyes darted back to the house, wondering if he should run back in and lock the door.

The man's hands sparkled a bit, almost lighting up. He looked up at Kurt from where he kneeled on the ground, looking a bit fascinated. "I don't know yet. I'm still cooking."

Kurt's eyes narrowed as he looked hard at the man, like if he tried hard enough, he could see right through him and know all about him. "Does it scare you?" The man asked.

"No…" Kurt mumbled, lying as he stared at the man, his glittery breath slowly diminishing into the air. "It just looks a little… weird."

"Oh, no, no, no," He said, smiling, "The crack in your wall, does it scare you?"

"Uh," Kurt said, looking at his shoes, nodding, "Yes."

Kurt was prepared to continue, but the man jumped up, looking elated while Kurt backed up, "Well then! No time to lose, I'm The Doctor. Do everything I tell you, don't ask any stupid questions, and don't wander off." He instructed, looking as giddy as can be as he shot directions gently at the innocent, small boy in the Spiderman pajamas, a good two feet smaller than him. Kurt nodded, swallowing, feeling a bit intimidated by the smiling man. He walked away from Kurt, looking rather confident as he ran himself right into the tree head-on, falling onto his back.

"Mister!" Kurt shouted, his feet staying put so he was still a good few feet away from the man now lying at the ground, blinking confusedly at the stars. "You alright?"

"Early days." He explained, "Steering is a bit off."

"Oh." Kurt mumbled as though he completely understood which was far from the case.

"Okay," The man said, jumping back up like he hadn't learned his lesson the first time he'd gotten up to fast. He clapped his hands together, grinning, "Shall we see this crack?"

Kurt nodded, bobbing a head a bit too fast to be healthy. He squeezed his hands into nervous fists by his sides, leading the man into the house. Kurt looked behind him a few times, watching the man behind him who seemed to be smiling, following obediently, not seeming to terrify at following the little boy even after the strict directions he'd tossed at Kurt. The man didn't fall again, but Kurt, after looking behind him so much, stumbled over a tree root at fell, catching himself with his palms.

Kurt winced, and the man was quick to stand behind him, pulling him up by armpits from behind. Kurt spun around, looking at the man with the same wide green eyes as before. "Are we okay? That was a bit of a fall." He said.

Kurt held out his palms in front of the man, and they spoke better then Kurt could. The man examined Kurt's hands, flipping each one over a few times. Kurt seemed rather distressed with the tiny cuts on his hands, dirty and tinged brown. The night was well illuminated by the moon and the stars, so Kurt's cuts were easier to see then not, but the man seemed to see deeper into Kurt's hand, like they were more than just tiny, pale baby hands with a pathetic scratch.

The man ran a finger over Kurt's palm, and Kurt pulled his hands back. He was particularly confused, the reality of the situation catching up with him. He didn't even know this strange man who seemed so fascinated with Kurt's delicate hands he'd drowned in vanilla-scented lotion. Of course, he was here to fix the crack in his wall, so Kurt should just let him do his job, really.

Kurt ran to the door once the man had released his hands Kurt had willingly given him himself. Kurt had no one to blame but himself if this man was scaring him; he was the one who told Santa to send someone.

Kurt scurried around the door, pulling the key out from where his Daddy left it under the mat. The man followed, not racing to catch up with Kurt after he ran away. Kurt grumbled, jamming the key into the lock until it opened.

The door flew open, slamming into a wall and shaking a glass vase against the wall. Kurt winced at the noise, and looked back behind him for the man.

When he turned around, the man was only two inches in front of Kurt's face, smiling. Kurt jumped back, his breath lost, while the man smiled, "What about that apple?"

Kurt obeyed, walking into the huge kitchen in his house the front door let in. "If you're a doctor," Kurt whispered hesitantly as he grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl on the high counter he had to use his tippy-toes to get, "Why did your box say police?"

The man considered this, taking the apple out of Kurt's hands as he turned around. He took a large bite, chewed for only a second, and spat on the white mush all over the shiny tile floor. Kurt gasped at the man's horrific manners he'd been taught to stray away from since he could crawl and had gladly accepted.

Kurt watched the tiny puddle of white apple mush on the floor like it might get up and walk away. "That's disgusting. What is that?"

Kurt looked up at the man. "An apple?" He said like he was answering a trick question.

"Apples are rubbish. I hate apples." He complained, handing the bitten apple to Kurt, who still had dirty hands as he was yet to run under a faucet.

"But you said you loved them." Kurt argued, putting a defensive hand on his hip.

"No, no, no. I like yoghurt. Yoghurt's my favorite, give me yoghurt." He said.

"Okay…" Kurt agreed, a bit confused again, but a tad more frustrated with his manners and his demands. He scurried to the fridge, finding one foot impossibly hard not to tangle with the other and fall flat on his face.

He opened the fridge, peering in until he found a snack serving of vanilla yoghurt, grabbing it out of the back of the fridge with determination. He glanced back at the man, whose eyes where surveying the kitchen, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently.

Kurt handed the man the yoghurt, and he grabbed the thing, ripping the top off and drinking the yoghurt like it was juice. Kurt looked a bit repulsed by the lack of silverware in this process, which he would have been happy to give him if he'd given him another second.

Kurt didn't even have a chance to consider him satisfied before he spat the yogurt across the kitchen. Kurt cringed at the mess, but the man seemed rather oblivious to it.

"I hate yogurt, it's just stuff, with bits in it." He complained, yoghurt dripping down his chin. He wiped it away with his sleeve, and Kurt had never seen anyone with such intimidatingly terrible manners after possibly his father.

"You said it was your favorite." Kurt protested, his eyes darting between the mess and the man, wondering which one he should attend to first. This man was being rather rude, and had too many conflicting decisions to be kept up with.

"New mouth. New rules." He explained. "It's like eating after cleaning your teeth, everything taste wron-" He cut himself off, shouting as his body went into a spasm. Kurt stepped back, his back colliding with a chair at the table. His eyebrows melded together in concern. He wasn't quite as afraid, anymore. This man just seemed a bit grumpy and a little confused and maybe just more different then Kurt, somehow. He said he had a new mouth. Kurt couldn't grow a new mouth, but this man could. But shaking like you were a cartoon character that gets electrocuted was a bit odd, a little scary. But bearable. Because Daddy told him being different was important. And even Kurt was different than the other boys at school, who liked Spiderman pajamas and didn't have to be forced into them by their father.

The man stopped after a moment, grabbing his forehead and waddling around, trying to find balance. "What's the matter? What's- what's wrong with you?" Kurt mumbled. Maybe he was sick. But he was a doctor, why couldn't he just fix himself?

The man looked at Kurt with narrowed eyes, speaking to fast for it to come off as intimidating, "Wrong with me? It's not my fault, why can't you get me any decent food? Your American, fry something."

Kurt raised a questioning eyebrow, wandering off to the stove. He sucked in a breath, trying to forget he was never allowed to use the stove, and turned the burner on. He wasn't quite sure how to use it, so he just spun the dial so the electric burners looked bright red and hot.

He went in the fridge, and the first cookable thing that caught his eye was his father's never-ending stash of bacon behind the orange juice. Kurt grabbed a pack, ripping the plastic open and throwing a few on the pan left on the burner from last night's dinner. He pushed them around with a fork like he saw Daddy do on Saturday mornings for Kurt.

The man snagged a dish towel of the counter next to Kurt, causing him to spin around at the sudden movement. The man smiled, and Kurt dismissed it, looking back to his bacon. He ruffled his hair with the dish towel to dry it, looking rather excited.

"Bacon," He exclaimed, pulling out a seat on the table and plopping in it. Kurt left the bacon cooking while he got the man a fancy plate and silverware. He'd played kitchen before with Daddy, so he knew how to serve him. He set down the plate in front of the man, and Kurt smiled for the first time tonight, standing straight and tall while he announced like the waiters in a real restaurant, "Your order will be right up."

Kurt wished he had an apron to put around his Spiderman pajamas so it would look even more real. Kurt was absolutely elated: he barely ever got to play kitchen with Daddy anymore, and when he did, Daddy would never let him use the real stove, only the plastic, fake one in the basement and Daddy would have to pretend to eat the plastic ice cream, making unrealistic 'nom, nom, nom' noises.

Kurt picked up each piece of bacon into his hand with a huge oven mitt over it, and dumped it on the man's fancy blue plate.

He ate, smiling for a moment as he chewed, and Kurt giggled a bit, like he'd finally done it, like he'd made the best food in the _whole _world, so he had to love it.

That only lasted a moment before he opened his mouth, gagging at the chewed up bacon inside his mouth. Kurt's smile fell, but he knew that it was bound to happen deep down. He spat it onto the plate, looking at Kurt from where he had sat himself on the opposite side of the table, "Bacon. That's bacon. Are you trying to poison me?"

Kurt looked at him, just as questioning him in a similar way this man did to him. _He'd _asked for it. Gosh.

Kurt tried again, grabbing a can of beans out of the cupboard. He dumped them into the pan, stirring them around. The man leaned on the counter next to him, holding his chin up with a hand. "Ahh, you see? Beans." He said like they were only the best thing in the world.

Once again, the process was repeated, Kurt taking the pan and dumping the soupy substance onto the plate, where it almost overflowed. Kurt didn't dare smile yet.

He got up from his seat after only seconds, ran to the sink, leaned over and spat the mouthful of beans into the _clean_ sink. Kurt looked revolted, and the man looked up from the sink, muttering in Kurt's direction, "Beans are evil. Bad, _bad _beans."

Kurt took a simpler approach, grabbing a piece of bread and a container of butter, sitting down the opposite side of the man at the table, smearing butter all over the bread.

"Bread and butter. Now you're talking." He said, nodding.

Kurt slid the plate across the table, biting his fragile lip, waiting for the man's judgment he was coming to expect.

The man took a single bite of the innocent bread, and Kurt could barely even find the time to get out of the chair before the man had ran back to the door and flung the bread across the yard, shouting, "And stay out!"

Kurt frowned as the man came stomping back inside. He paced back and forth across the room, looking rather anxious for the circumstances. Kurt opened the fridge obediently.

"I've got carrots." Kurt offered, looking around the fridge.

"Carrots?" He shouted, stopping his pacing for a quick second. "Are you insane?"

Kurt looked back to the fridge, sighing, "Celery and peanut butter..?", before the man shouted, "No! Wait, I know what I need. I need…" The man pushed Kurt out of the way and started rummaging trough Kurt's freezer. There was _no _way this man was going to take his Popsicles, if that was his idea.

"I need… fish fingers and… custard." He said, holding the two things he'd grabbed out for Kurt to see. He closed the doors enthusiastically, dropping the two things on the counter.

"They're call fish sticks." Kurt corrected. "Fish _sticks, _not fingers. Fish don't have fingers."

The man looked at Kurt questioningly. "And who said fish don't have fingers?"

Kurt didn't object, watching the man grab a bowl out of the cupboard himself and dumping the entire bottle of custard into a big clear bowl, putting the entire box of fish sticks into the microwave, and paying no real attention to what he was doing, pushed four minutes like that sounded like a good time. Kurt watched silently as the man did so, and helped carry the big bowl of custard to the table while the man pulled the box of fish sticks out; cringing at the burning paper box that presumably burnt his fingers.

Kurt looked back at the freezer, an idea still stuck in his head, and while the man sat down at the table, Kurt pulled a grape Popsicle of the freezer and happily stuck it in his mouth.

They both sat favorably at opposite ends of the table, Kurt not even bothering to show his disgust towards the hideous snack he was watching this insane man consume. It was only when he picked up the bowl of custard and began to drink from it did Kurt raise an eyebrow. He put it down a moment afterwords, the glass bowl hitting the table with a 'thunk,' wiping away a yellow mustache with the back of his hand.

"Funny." Kurt said. He wasn't quite sure why. The entire situation was just as so, might as well throw the word out there, too.

"Why? Funny. Funny's good." He said like he was having an argument with himself. He trailed off, though, in a quick moment. "What's your name?"

"Delilah Bell." Kurt announced proudly, even though his father told him not to make things up.

"That's a brilliant name." He said, "_Delilah Bell,_" He sounded it out, stretching the word, "Sounds like a name from a fairy tale."

Kurt smiled. When he told his daddy that was his name, he had frowned and scolded him. He'd said that Delilah was a girls' name. He'd gotten almost angry with Kurt. But Kurt didn't want to be Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel was a dry, bland name, and it made him think of dead grass and his father's garage. Kurt didn't want to be dead grass and Daddy's garage. Sure, his Daddy was his was a lot like that, he always smelt like his cars and after Mommy died, he certainly resembled dead grass at times. But Kurt loved his Daddy, regardless, and wouldn't want Daddy any other way. But Kurt couldn't be like that. When people heard about Kurt Hummel, he wanted people to think of fairy tales and stage lights, and Kurt Hummel wasn't a fairy-tales-and-stage-lights kind of name. Delilah Bell was, and it would always be his preferred name. Maybe someday he could change his name, but Daddy might get mad.

"Are we in America, Delilah?" He asked, waving around a fish stick melting thick yellow custard.

"Yes." Kurt answered with a bit of an _of-course _tone to his voice. "Lima, Ohio, America. But I'm not going to be here long. Someday I'm going to be in New York. That's where Broadway is, did you know that?"

"So, what about your mum and dad, then? Are they upstairs?" He asked, eyeballing the ceiling. "I thought we would have woken them by now."

"I don't have a 'mum.'" Kurt whispered sorrowfully at the table, trying to mimicking the man's accent. "Just a daddy."

"I don't even have a dad." The man said, and he didn't look too disappointed about that.

"Wow…" Kurt whispered. No dad, no mom. At _all. _That would be _terrible. _

There was a moment of silence, or at least no talking. The room was filled with the echoes of the man's loud chomps on the fish stick. "So your dad, where's he?"

"He's asleep. He takes Nyquil to get rid of his headaches and usually doesn't get up till noon. He's a very deep sleeper, 'specially when he has Nyquil in him." Kurt mumbled, shoving the Popsicle in his cheeks.

"So you just wander about all night?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not _scared,_" Kurt protested, crossing his arms over his chest defensively as though the man was implying he was so. But after a moment he resumed sucking on the Popsicle and went back to being a baby again.

"Of course you're not! You're not scared of anything! Box falls out of the sky, man falls out of the box, and man eats fish custard." He said, gesturing at Kurt with his flimsy fish stick, biting off the end as he spoke with his mouth full, "And look at you. Just sitting there. Do you know what I think?"

"What?" Kurt asked, taking the Popsicle out of his mouth.

"Must be a hell of a scary crack in your wall."

Kurt pulled him down the stairs, his tiny hand wrapped firmly around his wrist. "It's down here. This is my room."

The man nodded. "Beautiful room, it is."

Kurt shook his head up and down fiercely. "I know. I picked the color myself."

They stood in the room, the open door to the stairs behind them. The walls were tall, pastel green that had been his favorite color two months ago when his father painted it. The bright white rug was spotless, all except for a bit of dirt across the room where Kurt's window was at. The room deeply contrasted between paper dress-up dolls, coloring books, thick fairy tales and action figures, plastic dinosaurs, and Batman sheets on his bed. Kurt was sort of elated he'd been around this man for so long, even showed him his room, and he hadn't snickered and called him a girl. All the boys at school did that, and once even his father's friend, who wasn't his father's friend much longer after that happened. But Kurt new even his dad thought Kurt was girly sometimes, that was why he gave him Spiderman pajamas and Batman sheets and play dinosaurs he didn't want. Kurt didn't understand why boys have to be boyish and girls have to be girlish- why can't everyone just be? Why do they have to be told what they are, why can't they just be what they are? But this strange man, he walked into Kurt's room and didn't call him girly, didn't call his boyish, just let him be Kurt- or better yet, Delilah Bell.

"This is it," Kurt announced, running to the wall and patting the space above a light blue dresser covered in various crayons and below a long crack in the wall. Kurt backed away; holding his hands behind his back and watching the man do his job.

He stroked the crack with a finger, "We got some cowboys in here."

Kurt gave him a funny look, tilting his head in curious confusion before the man turned to him. "Not actual cowboys. Though, that can happen."

"I used to hate apples." Kurt started; pulling a plump red apple from behind his back, figuring now would be the best time, if ever. "But my mommy put faces on them, and I like 'em a lot more now."

He walked forward, placing the apple in the man's hand, admiring his own work. While the man was still distracted with his fish 'fingers' and custard, Kurt had taken a plastic butter knife and cut out a delicate face on the last apple in the fridge. Of course, it was a bit too juicy to make a perfect art project, but aside from being terribly sticky, it had two beautiful big eyes and long mouth. Kurt beamed as the man tossed it in the air before shoving it into his big pocket and saying, "Sounds good, your mum. I'll keep it for later."

In all honesty, Kurt was a bit disappointed by his reaction. Maybe he just really didn't like apples. Or maybe he didn't like Kurt's face.

The man turned back to the crack, dismissing Kurt, who only stood back and let the man do his job once again. "This wall is solid and the crack doesn't go all the way through it." The man observed. "So here's the thing- where's the draft coming from?"

Kurt stood still, deciding it was no time for him to interfere. He watched the man wave a little metal stick over the crack, lighting up blue at the end. Kurt couldn't help but wonder if it was a magic wand. If this man could sparkle and had a flying blue box, why couldn't he have a magic wand?

He read the wand, and whatever he was reading, Kurt could quite see. A tiny screen, maybe? "Blimey, you know what that crack is?"

"What?" Kurt asked. He felt like reminding the man his name was Delilah now, not _Blimey. _What kind of name was that?

"It's a _crack,_" The man said, all too dramatically to be taken seriously. Of _course _it was a crack!

Kurt looked back at this crazy crack, watching the man rush towards it and run his hand along it. It was almost glowing red-orange, like always. That crimson color scared Kurt, it wasn't meant for this room. No foreign, scary color like that belonged anywhere near Kurt's life.

"But I tell you something funny. If you knock this wall down, the crack will stay put because the crack isn't in the wall," He explained, stroking the crack with his pointer finger again, like he couldn't keep himself away.

"Where is it then?" Kurt muttered.

"Everywhere and everything. It's in the skin of the world, two parts of space and time that should never of touched, pressed together, right here, in the wall of your bedroom." He explained like this was some great phenomenon. It wasn't like Kurt found this normal, though. He was a bit shaken. It all sounded unreal. Sure, the most fantastical thing Kurt had ever witnessed was a typical show of Barney on Wednesday afternoon with a lime Popsicle, but the annoying little voice in the back of his head was telling him this was a crazy man in front of him, that what he was describing was impossible, and maybe that this crack was only normal and he was overreacting.

"Sometimes- can you hear-?" He started, pressing his ear to the crack.

"A voice? Yes." Kurt finished. He hated remembering it: sitting upright in his bed in the dark, trying to make out what the mysterious voice was saying while Batman stared at him through his sheets.

The man pressed the side of his face harder, struggling to make out the voice just like Kurt had at first. He gave up, though, and grabbed a glass cup off Kurt's nightstand, dumping the water out shamelessly on the floor.

He put the glass to the crack, putting his ear to that. "Prisoner Zero-" He began.

"-has escaped. Prisoner Zero had escaped. That's what I heard. What does it mean?" Kurt asked, rubbing his sweaty palms on his fleece pants, trying to hide his fear.

"It means, that on the other side of this wall, there's a prisoner. And they've lost a prisoner. And you know what that means?" He said.

"What?" Kurt asked, breathless despite not moving an inch.

"You need a better wall." He stated obviously. Kurt jumped out of the way as the man picked up the pastel blue dresser and moved it aside, crayons rolling off the top and onto the floor.

"The only way to close it is to open it all the way. The forces will revert, and it will snap itself shut, or…" He said, stretching out the last word so it deserved a dramatic dot-dot-dot afterwords. Kurt could even see those dramatic and suspenseful dots looming invisibly in the air. He put down the dresser with a bit of a thud, crayons that hadn't already fallen jumping off.

" Or what?" Kurt insisted, growing annoyed with this man's suspense, even though the worry he was feeling was overthrowing annoyance like it nothing.

"You know when grown-ups tell you everything is going to be fine and you think they're probably lying to make you feel better?" He asked, looking at Kurt almost regretfully.

"Yes." Kurt whispered, like it was a forbidden topic to stray. Plus he was growing a bit to weary to make his voice very big.

"Everything is going to be fine."

The man stretched out a hand, and Kurt took it. He pointed his wand at the crack, the buzzing filling the silence in the room. Kurt stood behind him, allowing the man to separate Kurt and the crack he didn't want to be around him.

Kurt peered from behind the man's legs innocently, instantly regretting what he was seeing. He staggered back, not letting go of the man's hand as the wall opened up like a mouth, lighting up all too bright before it welcomed the ominous darkness behind it.

"Prisoner Zero has escaped." The darkness announced, the monotone voice as familiar as ever, only more amplified.

The man walked forward, and Kurt stayed put, hesitantly allowing his hand to slip away from the man's, bringing his own to his face to hide himself from the thing in a hideous and pitiful attempt.

"Prisoner Zero has escaped." It echoed itself.

"Hello? Hello…" The man asked emptiness.

They both jumped back a bit, Kurt more than him, when the giant blue eye filled the void of darkness, not connected to anything, just _there_. Kurt sat down on the floor before his small legs could give way. His eyes went wide, and he couldn't rip them away as he stared.

"What- what's that?" Kurt mumbled, wishing to the moon and back that he could feel the warming comfort of that man's hand again.

His question was left unanswered. But it only loomed in the room for a moment before the crack snapped shut, a light flying across the room like a bullet as it did so. They floating eye looked around frantically before the wall and the crack resumed to its normal self.

"There! See, I told you it'd close. Good as new." He said, gesturing to now-closed wall as he sat on Kurt's bed.

"What's that thing? Was that… was that Prisoner Zero?" Kurt asked, picking himself up from the floor he sat on slowly, his eyelids not able not relax as they continued to stay far too wide open.

"No. I think that was Prisoner Zero's guard. Whatever it was, it sent me a message. Physic paper." He said, waving a little pad in the air. Kurt didn't say anything about how he didn't know what 'physic' meant. "It takes a lovely little message," He explained, his eyes narrowing as he read it. "'Prisoner Zero has escaped.' But why tell us? Unless…" He trailed off, thinking, standing up from the bed.

"Unless what?" Kurt insisted, tired of this man's suspense games or inability to finish a sentence.

"Unless Prisoner Zero escaped through here. But he couldn't have, we'd know…" He decided. He thought for only a second before he darted off, running out the door and into hallway by the staircase. Kurt followed after him.

"It's difficult. Blimey, nothing works yet, but there's _something _I'm missing." He complained. "In the corner of my eye…" He whispered, turning his head around dramatically slow.

He stared behind him at the wall like something was wrong, only lasting a moment before something started booming, making noise like a gong.

"No, no, no!" He yelled, running down the hall and up the stairs, Kurt following close behind, confused.

He dashed out the door like it was a great race, and Kurt was feeling his breath fall short as he ran, almost tripping over his bare feet as he ran.

"I've got to get back in there!" He shouted as he ran through the front yard, hopping over tree-house debris. "The engines are phasing!"

The man knelt down, frantically picking up his rope. "It's just a _box!_" Kurt shouted. "How can a _box _have _engines?_"

"It's not a box," He explained. "It's a time machine."

"What?" Kurt asked. "A time machine? Those aren't real! Those are only in story books!" He protested.

"Won't be real for much longer if we can't get it stabilized." He responded. "Five minute hop into the future should do it." He contemplated, tossing the rope into box.

Kurt looked at the box, the box that had fallen out of the sky and had a swimming pool and a library. He smiled hopefully. "Can... can I come?"

"Not yet, five minutes. Give me five minutes, I'll be right back." He shouted, sitting on the side of the box, getting ready to jump. Kurt couldn't let him go, he couldn't.

"People always say that." He stated, and it was true. His mom had said that. Then she never came back.

He looked back to Kurt, hopping off the side of the box, walking to Kurt and bending to his level. "Am I people?" He asked. "Do I even look like people?"

Kurt looked at him, and he felt tears prick his eyes. This man couldn't leave him, but he looked like one to trust. He looked like he'd been through more than just magic adventures, like he was one to trust and he knew what it was like to be betrayed. He looked sincere, and Kurt accepted that. But his mom had looked sincere enough when she'd said that to Kurt…

"Trust me." He said, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and squeezing it. "I'm the Doctor."

Kurt felt a smile escape his tight lips. The man saw this, let go, and went back to his box. He sat on the side, and before he jumped, he smirked at Kurt and said, "Five minutes."

He watched the big blue box fade in and out into thin air, making a loud noise before it finally diminished. He ran to the door that was wide open, speeding to get his things. After this, the Doctor would come back, he'd take Kurt into his box and they'd fly away or whatever that box did. He'd hold Kurt's hand, he'd show him amazing things, and he wouldn't give him Batman sheets he didn't want or action figures when he wanted dolls. This man didn't even care about what he liked or what he did. He'd call him Delilah and then they'd go to a long, long time ago in the time machine when there where princesses and queens and kings, and then Kurt would be a prince or a king, and he'd wear big fancy clothes and everyone would love him, and they'd throw him balls and parties and put on big plays for him, and sometimes he'd even get to be the star of the play, and everyone would admire his singing voice and love his acting, and not give him a tiny role in the school play just because he wanted the girl part. In fact, they'd let him play the girl parts and they'd love it even more then when he did the boy parts. Everyone would want to be like the fancy and beautiful prince, Delilah Bell, and he'd live every fairy tale, except he'd be the prince instead of the princess. He didn't mind if he still had to have a Prince Charming instead of a princess. Princess Charming didn't even sound right. And nobody would think anything of a prince and a prince, they'd love it just as much as a princess and a prince.

Kurt smiled. He loved this idea. He tossed his clothes into his school backpack, taking out the stray papers and books he wouldn't need in fairy tale land. Kurt Hummel might have to go to school, but Delilah Bell wouldn't have to.

He hummed to himself, those happy songs he heard on the radio. He shoved his vests, his jeans, his favorite bowtie, a bottle of spray conditioner, and an old raggedy teddy bear into the bag. He stripped of his pajamas, shoving those inside the bag and put on more fancy clothes: a button up gray shirt, a dark green tie of his father's, and black dress pants. He combed through his hair, but rushed. He seemed somewhat appropriate looking for a prince. He ran downstairs, his bag slung over one shoulder, and ran up the stairs, back out the door, and sat on a log, patiently waiting with his back straight.

For ten minutes, he sat like that. He forced a smile on his faced to wipe away the worry, reminding himself he was just running a tad late. He crossed his legs, leaned against a tree and sighed, squeezing his backpack to his chest.

An hour later, when the sun started peeking through the trees, the first worried tear fell down Kurt's cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand, but others followed. He put his backpack on the ground, patted it down and leaned on it, telling himself that the Doctor would wake him up when he got here.

Kurt would have fallen asleep immediately; he hadn't gotten a bit of sleep all night. But the sky roared in protest, a loud clap of thunder echoing in the early morning. He sniffled back hysterics when water droplets began to fall.

It wasn't long, only twenty minutes, before he was fast asleep, even in the rain. He was tired, and he wasn't quite ready to deal with his father's personality or another school day, only where the boys would step on his heels in line and snicker, where they'd call him a girl and no one would stick up for him, even though the teacher said that was what you were supposed to do when you saw someone get bullied.

He didn't dream of fairy tales when he fell asleep, only the realistic nightmares of another day of living life with bigger boys pushing him around.

"Kurt? Kurt, why are you out here in the rain? What happened to the tree house?" A voice hissed, and Kurt's eyes fluttered open only to see his father's face in front of him, his typical baseball cap and early-age wrinkles included.

"Is he here?" Kurt wondered aloud, sitting straight up, faster than he should of, being still half asleep and he got a little dizzy.

"Is who here? Kurt, are you alright? Let's go inside," Daddy said, putting his hand on Kurt's back and pushing him into the house. Kurt's eyes strayed the area, and he noticed everything was wet, and then that the water was coming from the sky, and then that his father had an umbrella over him and that's why he couldn't feel it, and then that he was soaking wet in only thin dress clothes.

Kurt didn't respond to his father's question. Not only was he preoccupied with thoughts of the night before, but it wasn't really his father's business.

"Kurt, its noon, why didn't you catch the bus?" He pestered, pulling Kurt into the house.

"I sat on the log outside for a moment," Kurt lied in monotone, abnormally good at lying for a six year old. "And fell asleep. Sorry."

"Kurt, you scared me!" Burt complained, bringing Kurt into the kitchen.

"Sorry." Kurt repeated, looking at his hands while his father sat him down at the table. His breath caught when he saw the empty bowl of custard in front of him.

"And what _is _all this mess?" He shouted, grabbing something out of the cupboard while he threw his arms around. Kurt merely glimpsed at the many half empty bowls on the counter, the mess of spat-out yoghurt and apple on the floor. "Were you up all night, doing this? And Kurt, you left the burner on! Not only could you of set the house on fire, but my gas bill is going to go through the roof!"

"Sorry." Kurt said, again. He didn't know if he meant it or not, he didn't regret doing any of this, but he didn't want to see his father upset, either.

"Just, please, don't do it again, Kurt." His father pleaded, lifting up Kurt's head up in his hand, holding a spoonful of purple medicine in the other hand.

"I won't." Kurt whispered, putting his mouth obediently over the spoon, feeling the ugly black licorice taste on his tongue. And it was a promise.

Because whoever the Doctor was, he must have just been all a dream.


	2. The Eleventh Hour Part Two

A/N:

You guys make me smile. Like, really. I got to read my reviews yesterday, and I was all dumbly smiling, cold forkfuls of pizza in my mouth.

Just saying.

**The Eleventh Hour: Part Two-**

* * *

><p>First grade was as so: first grade. Insults consisted of the word 'girl' and physical harassment was shoving woodchips down your back at recess. Nothing really changed for a while except for Kurt's ever-changing favorite color. For a while after that dream about the strange man, it was gray, the dull gray you saw in clouds on a rainy day. But after he sucked up his disappointment, for almost two months (the longest he'd had one steady favorite color) was dark blue. A familiar color, in fact, the same color he saw in his front yard in that perfect dream.<p>

Second grade was tolerable, after having plenty of practice with first grade. He drew doodles of The Raggedy Doctor in the margins of his school notebooks and made elaborate pictures and stories about the man. The teachers were fascinated by his depictions of the adventurous between The Raggedy Doctor and Delilah Bell in some sort of fairy tale land. It was his insensitive second grade teacher who'd spoken up first.

_"Kurt, these stories are really amazing," Mrs. Jacobson complimented, almost breathing down his neck as she stood behind Kurt at his desk._

_ "Thank you, Mrs. Jacobson." Kurt said, smirking and turning around in his chair. "But they're not stories. I didn't make them up. See, I had a dream once about this guy. But, Mrs. Jacobson, I've been thinking about it a lot… I don't know if it was really a dream! I mean, he said he'd come back in five minutes, but maybe he's just running late. Or maybe he just meant five years and was in a hurry so he-"_

_"Kurt!" She interrupted, kneeling down to be at eye level with him. "The stories you write, Kurt, they're fantasies. And what does a fantasy mean? We've talked about it in class." _

_ "Make-believe." Kurt whispered, looking sorrowfully at the picture he was drawing of The Raggedy Doctor, with his black-crayon bangs in front of his eyes and his torn-up sky-blue shirt. "But, Mrs. Jacobson, when I got back down to my room, all my stuff was messed up, just like how he'd left it! The dresser was on the other side of the room and-"_

_ "Kurt, you know, you probably did that yourself when you were sleep-walking."_

_ "I can't pick up a dresser!" Kurt defended. _

_ "And Kurt, time-machines aren't real." She said, squeezing his shoulder with a tiny smile as she left Kurt and went to attend to another student._

Little did that teacher know, he spent that recess bawling his eyes out.

By third grade, things started taking a turn for the worse as children got crueler and their vocabulary increased, along with their physical outlets. Between his stubborn belief in The Raggedy Doctor and the fabulous fashion sense he was developing, kids seemed to have every reason to pick on him. When Kurt's teacher (no longer the evil Mrs. Jacobson) read Kurt's story aloud to the class, this story being yet another copy of _The Fabulous Adventures of Delilah Bell and The Raggedy Doctor, _kids began calling Kurt "Delilah." Kurt would have been excited if people had declared this new name. But instead, it was simply an insult, comparing him to a girl. He spent far too many recesses alone on the swings, crying silent tears.

In fourth grade, some blondie who thought he was all that and more called Kurt gay for the first time. He was still innocent and naïve and he'd honestly thought the word meant only good things being the only time he'd heard the word at Christmas time and they sang 'Deck The Halls' and one of the lines had 'gay apparel ' in it, and he knew what apparel was, and frankly, he loved it. He was almost flattered until he announced this to his father and the concept was introduced to him.

Fifth grade was living hell. He'd started completely innocent and naïve, and by the end of the first week he knew every swear word in alphabetical order, and more about male _and _female anatomy then he was near ready to know. Kurt had given up on The Raggedy Doctor, and desperately wished other people would too, after the bullying that had continued into fourth grade. But boys, now equipped with perverted mindsets, had efficiently turned "Delilah Bell" into "De-lack-ah Balls." Kurt, at first, just snorted and told them in was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, but by the second time in sent him into tears. He'd had so many tears. _So many. _There was a rage building up in him, but he knew all it would lead to was a series of laughs at his pathetic attempts. When Kurt had just felt like dying, one day, after some idiot called him gay, _again, _he ended up stabbing that boy's palm with a mechanical pencil. It caused moderate pain, of course, he cringed, but the response to this was mainly cursing and more insults at Kurt's expense, and he didn't resort to this physical violence again, and stuck to ignoring them and the constant reminder he was better than all of them.

Middle school was rough: suddenly, everything went from kicking you in the knee intentionally with a soccer ball to being brutally shoved into lockers, and 'girly' turned into 'faggot.' But he survived, got decent grades, and met Mercedes Jones who was happy to lend a shoulder to cry on when he needed one. The beautiful thing, though, was that they'd almost allowed him to start with a clean slate. That or they'd just thought their own insults we're getting old so they moved on to bigger and better things.

In seventh grade, the dating game started. It was horrific. The world suddenly revolved around sex appeal and whatever jokes you could extract from Health class. All except for Kurt, and possibly a few others, who still had some sort of shape or form of sanity.

In fourth grade, Kurt had been declared gay by his classmates, before he even knew it himself. But in seventh grade, Kurt was sure of whom he was. If that meant those ignorant Neanderthals were right about something for once, so be it.

It felt like everyone had reasons to make fun of him. He came off as a superficial snob under all those designer clothes and perfected hair, but the truth was, he was just lonely, as horrifically clichéd as it all was. He was never mean to anyone, but that didn't mean he was going to treat the ninety-percent of the school that picked on him with respect. Everyone was surer of Kurt's sexuality then he was, and he hadn't even come out. Hell, he walked down the hallway with his arms linked with Mercedes and people still pointed at him and shouted, "Homo alert! Homo alert! Homo alert! Evacuate the guys before he jumps 'em!"

By high school, if anything, he should have been proud. He'd made it through all that and hadn't been pronounced clinically depressed once. He'd come out of the closet sophomore year, and his father accepted him and everything was simply peachy. But then he met Finn Hudson, fell head-over-heels for him, and he effectively ruined his life with yet another social suicide. But he had found glee club, got wrapped up in that, and next thing he knew, Finn Hudson was his stepbrother, and not to mention, absolutely, 101% straight.

But with a bully that threatened the life of him came Dalton Academy, and then Blaine Anderson, who more or less fixed everything, saved his life, and caught him every time he fell on his face. He was perfect, all except for his obsession with hair gel and Katy Perry, which he probably wouldn't be as fun without. Heated arguments about who were better, Lady Gaga or Katy Perry, were no doubt easily one of the most entertaining parts of this relationship.

Blaine was the first one Kurt ever told about the Raggedy Doctor since elementary school. He'd told Blaine about it in the perspective of it being strictly a dream he had when he was merely six. A fairy tale of sorts.

_They sprawled out over Kurt's bed, staring at the ceiling as Kurt rambled on, knowing every single detail with crystal-clear memory. Blaine ran a finger over Kurt's knuckles and he held his hand, intently listening to Kurt's words. _

_ "And the he left," Kurt continued, "And I waited. I was wearing a beautiful outfit, my father's tie and a too-big white button up shirt after I got rid of those ugly Spiderman pajamas. I was so excited, I thought we were going to live happily ever after in some fairy tale where I'd meet my Prince Charming…" Kurt stopped, grinning as he stopped to look at Blaine, Kurt's own blue eyes gleaming. "Of _course_, it was dream. I met my Prince Charming on Earth, didn't I?" _

_ Blaine laughed, staring into Kurt's eyes. They'd always been whimsical, beautiful, but always behind a fog of protection. It was almost like now, that fog had disappeared. "Don't get it in your hair-spray covered skull that I'm letting you go for any fairy tale princes any time soon." _

_ Kurt squeezed his hand, chuckling. "I don't need a prince. I already have one. But anyway, I waited for hours, until the sky started turning pink and clouds rolled in, and I fell asleep on the log when it started raining. My dad came out and scolded me when I woke up. So this isn't dream land anymore, but Blaine, this is that part that gives you the goose bumps. Ready?" Kurt asked. _

_ "Ready." Blaine said, amused by Kurt's seriousness. _

_ "Blaine! Don't laugh!" Kurt scolded, sitting up. "This part is, like, serious. I'm not kidding. You could even ask my dad, he'd tell you it's true. Of course, he thought I did it- but are you going to take my paranormal experience for real or what?" _

_ "Okay. I promise I'll listen politely and not freak out." Blaine said, still smiling, but he meant it. _

_ "So," Kurt said, leaning over Blaine, who was still lying down of the bed as though it might build dramatic effect, "I woke up from the dream and went inside and- poof!" Kurt shouted, flailing his arms as Blaine laughed. "The fish custard was still there, Blaine! Still! And so was the spat-out apple! And when I went to my room, the dresser was still moved and everything! I couldn't move a dresser when I was six! It's so weird, I don't know what to make of it!" _

_ Blaine looked actually sort of shocked. "Wait- you're not kidding? You woke up and everything was still there?" _

_ "Yeah!" Kurt exclaimed. "Isn't that, like, freaky? I mean… for a minute… you might even think it really happened…" _

Blaine had been amazed by Kurt' story. He'd said something along the lines of "most creative thing I've ever heard." Kurt had showed him the stacks of pictures, badly drawn stick figures in crayon, all looking alike. Blaine had found the written stories before Kurt could snatch it away, and Blaine had grinned as he read proudly, pulling the old notebook paper away from Kurt's grabbing hands, _"And then he spat the apple all over the floor! All over! What kind of rude person did that?" _

Blaine did, though, put his mind to use after a while. It took heavy convincing, after all the trauma throughout elementary school. Blaine had sat behind him, breathing down his neck, until Kurt had written down every event that took place that night in his "big-boy words" as Blaine had called it. In the time of only a month afterwards, somehow, Kurt had found himself with a scholarship to New York University with that story and he didn't even know how it happened, but Blaine had made it known that he had something to do with it.

Currently, it was Kurt's senior year at McKinley High School, he was the countertenor King of Glee and Fashion, and he had a scholarship to NYC in his pocket and a lovely boyfriend who was bound to tag along, being he was practically melting talent and his parents had enough money to buy the moon. For once, everything seemed perfect.

_Seemed _perfect.

It was that tiny piece missing that Kurt needed in his life, the thing he longed for every waking moment, very possibly even more then the limelight.

He missed his Raggedy Doctor with a burning passion, and even though he didn't know it, he was still waiting for that blue box to appear in his front yard.

* * *

><p>Kurt spun around in circles in the black office chair, leaning back and watching the world whiz by in a colorful blur. The typical Broadway music blared from his speakers, specifically Defying Gravity at the given moment, and his homework lay, half-finished and abandoned, on his desk. His brain felt like a plate of mush- he was in no condition for algebra, and spinning around in circles sounded <em>much <em>more appealing.

"Delilah!" Kurt heard behind his music. He paused his spinning abruptly, causing him to be a bit dizzy, and he muted his IPod for a moment to see if the thing he'd just thought he'd heard under the music was only his imagination. He didn't even make the connection at first, he simply wondered if there was a confused man shouting names in his yard.

"Delilah! I worked out what it was! I know what I was missing! You've got to get out of there!" Kurt heard dimly from downstairs. His brain froze, his breath stopped when he swore he recognized the voice. It was the kind of thing you just don't forget.

He stood up so he could see out the tiny window above his desk, and his heart literally stopped dead.

A blue box was standing neatly in his yard, upright, and even from the distance Kurt could make out the easy fact it was an old police box.

Kurt heard the door open, the door that was supposed to be locked. He held his breath, nearing the stairs as the house flooded with the shouts of, "Delilah! Are you alright? Are you there? You've got to get out, right now!"

Kurt could easily hear the running around the house, the shouting, like it was right next to him. He was extremely afraid, and if he didn't convince himself _he _was back, the only other option was that there was a strange, unknown man running about his house, most likely drunk or wanting blood of some sort. He grabbed a purple softball bat in a bin on the stairs, holding it behind his back.

_Kurt, you're dreaming. Calm down. This is just some sort of night terror. You'll be awake any minute now._

Kurt's steps were slow, and he was just about hallway up the stairs when, amongst the sound of doors shaken and banged on, he heard a loud and annoying buzzing noise from a magic wand that was painfully familiar, he could hear the shouts, and the one that really stood out was, "Prisoner Zero! Prisoner Zero's here!"

Kurt froze for a moment. _It's a_ _night terror, Kurt. Just a night terror, Kurt. You're dreaming. This isn't real._

"Do you understand me? Prisoner Zero is _here!_" The shouts continued, and Kurt grew weary. He knew he was dreaming. Of course he was. But it just felt so… real. He could remember his entire day. He couldn't have dreamt _all _that.

It was only a dream, so why couldn't he just walk up those stairs... accept this silly dream for whatever clown would be up there and however twistedly big his shotgun would be.

He marched up the stairs, preparing himself to awake when the dream reached it's truly unrealistic proportions and his mind figured out that he was dreaming and that he could wake up now. He reached the top of the stairs, spinning around to see whatever was haunting his dreams this time.

His burst of courage fell like rocks when he saw the man he recognized so excruciatingly well. He was only two feet away from the man, only two feet away from a _dream._

When he turned back around, panicking. He was the perfect resemblance of all those memories- memories or a _make-believe story. _It didn't make any sense.

But he was dreaming! _Dreaming!_ That was all!

So he hit him in the forehead with a softball bat out of sheer confusion when he got too close, very effectively knocking him out. Kurt's eyes widened, darting back and forth between the bat he just hit a man in the forehead with, and the man lying on the floor, unconscious.

Should he call 9-1-1? What would he say? A mysterious man from my childhood dreams is back and trying to tell me to get the hell out of my house, so I hit him in the forehead with a bat? Of course not, but telling them he had no idea who he was, was an option. But he didn't want this man behind bars- illusion of not, he needed some answers.

Or- God- _Kurt, your dreaming. Maybe if you go to sleep or something you'll wake up. Is that even possible? _

Suddenly, he wished he watched _Inception _for a second time like everyone said he should. Then maybe he'd get this whole, strange dream phenomenon a tad more.

Despite losing the urge to be hostile, Kurt was still panicking and his thoughts rushed through his head so fast he didn't have time to comprehend them before they were lost.

Kurt didn't really know what he was doing when a dashed up the stairs and found himself in Finn's room until he found his bike lock. He honestly had no idea what he was doing- a _bike _lock? He knew the combination was 'finn' ever since last summer when Kurt had borrowed the thing, and when you have a combination as easy as that it's hard to forget. Something like that's also something good to use against a person. He grabbed the lock and sped down the stairs again.

It was a simple matter: tangle the bike lock until there was a hole that would fit around his wrist. It wasn't like Finn didn't handcuff Kurt to the staircase with the same bike lock on April Fool's- and his birthday- and by Halloween he knew what was coming and was able to escape the room the second he saw the dark purple coil in Finn's hands.

He successfully tangled the bike lock into some mess and slipped the man's hand it to it, hesitant to touch the same hand he so comfortably held twelve years ago, and slid it in the loop, knotting it over so his hand was trapped in the mess. The other end of the bike lock was on the end of the staircase, so he sat slumped over on the bottom stair. Kurt bit the end of his finger in his mouth out of nervous habit. If Kurt wasn't dreaming, this man had to be some prank. Maybe someone had remembered the nightmares of elementary school and did whatever. Or _something_. But he was so real, it had to be him.

_Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, Kurt, wake up._

After he'd willed himself to wake up, his eyes closed shut, biting a bit harder on his finger, to no avail, he rushed into his room. Scouring his drawers was an instinct move, again. Either an instinct move or he was thinking through this stuff and not hearing the situation being plotted out in his head.

Once he found it, he stripped off his expensive cashmere sweater and tossed it in the corner of room regretfully. Never before had he been so thankful Blaine had forced the matter of Halloween upon him last year. It wasn't his costume; it was Blaine's, so it was a bit too big.

Maybe that would help hide the fact it was Playboy.

He gave up on the skinny pants at once- they just looked wrong on Kurt. Of course, last year when Blaine wore it, it fit him rather well. He sort of ruined the entire fun of it by wearing a tee-shirt under the shirt that was losing six top buttons (what kind of boyfriend wore a Playboy costume and then PG-ed it?). Kurt sort of ruined the entire point of going to the costume for help- he ended up ditching both the shirt and the pants, finding himself in black pants and a white shirt instead of navy blue. Well, he had to avoid that fashion abomination- dark blue on dark blue was just _lazy _if anything. Plus, something told Kurt that he'd somehow figure out that a majority of police do button up their shirts and more often than not stray away from loose-fitting skinny jeans.

Never before had he hated wearing something so much. Looking like a 'normal' person really just wasn't Kurt's thing. And he didn't even look normal- he looked like a confused police man who never got a uniform.

He put on the plastic accessories- the stupid clip on radio box and the belt and whatnot. It was terrible. He felt like an idiot. His brain constantly questioned him and his sanity, but he continued. This man hadn't come off as the brightest crayon in the box twelve years ago, so maybe Kurt would get lucky and this man wouldn't notice his idiotic moves.

All he needed was a caterpillar mustache, thicker eyebrows, and some black sunglasses and Kurt Hummel could pass for your friendly neighborhood creeper.

He bounced down the stairs, and paced back and forth in the hall, the too-big belt weighing down his pants and causing them to start falling. Kurt gave up on pulling them back up every five seconds and just put a hand on his hip to hold the waistband to his skin. He hated this- every moment of the pacing, the rushed and jumbled thoughts, the anxiety that this man might wake up.

Kurt had some pretty elusive dreams in his eighteen years. But this, after the never-forgotten adventure with The Raggedy Doctor when he was six, was certainty the most realistic one he'd ever had.

* * *

><p>Blaine sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair, moving around constantly like it would make any difference. The random clangs of his metal pocket buttons scraping the seat was accompanied by the joyous and annoying steady beeps coming from the loads of equipment in the room, all overlapping each other. It was creepy. Well- the room full of people in comas was the creepy part, the many beeps just added to the madness.<p>

He really hated hospitals. They were depressing and you can't play guitar and sing in hospital before people start shushing you. Blaine bit down on his lip when the last nurse left the room, their eyes on a clipboard, dismissing Blaine like he was another one of in the row of unconscious people. He wished his mom was back with those Subway sandwiches already. Blaine wished he'd come with her now, but a better deal altogether was just to have never come to this sterilized haven at all.

Three weeks ago Blaine had come to the hospital with his mom to support her, help her deal with the fact her best friend was on a hospital cot and hooked up to a machine. He had come again last week- and when he recognized the man on the cot next to him from a rundown strip mall he sort of mentally freaked out. Then he'd come again, after going to the same place, that man _still _there, he took the picture he'd taken and compared it. Sure enough, it was exactly the same. Blaine ended up at the hospital every day since then with his mom, visiting this woman he'd only spoken to once or twice, finding new people with every visit. Half the people in the tiny unit had already been spotted; curiously, all at about the same spot like they all had the same intentions. Blaine hadn't told anyone about it yet, but when he caught a picture on his phone of his mother's best friend- who was in a coma- walking about town, he considered telling his mom. It was almost like it was her business, now; if it had something to do with the woman she visited more than that woman's parents visited her.

"Doctor,"

Blaine jumped from the shift of sound in the room between beeping to the nice surprise of a voice. He swore it came from behind him, but it must be someone who walked in. He looked towards the door, and yet, no one was there. It wasn't a terribly large room…

When he turned around, sure enough, a man's mouth was moving, hoarsely whispering again, "Doctor."

Blaine was startled for a moment, before he realized this man must have woken up. He didn't know the slightest thing about comas or the brain or whatever he learned in school last week and already forgot, but he must have woken up and was calling for a doctor. Blaine saw people wake up from comas all the time: specifically on television, but this was a little different. His eyes didn't flutter open, and alertness didn't suddenly seep into him. But television lied sometimes, right?

"Doctor,"

That didn't come from the man that time, and instead, it came from another woman across the room. She spoke clearly, and her mouth moved, but her eyes remained closed and she stayed still. Blaine looked about frantically. Shouldn't someone already be in here? With all these annoying monitors, you'd think they'd be able to tell or _something. _Two people were just- awake! Already!

"Doctor,"

Blaine spun around his chair, and watched another man repeat the others, "Doctor."

Suddenly, people joined until all of the unconscious people in the unit, probably fifteen people at the least, were speaking the same word, none of them really awake. Even the woman only a foot away from him spoke, her eyes shut and her body unmoving aside from her mouth.

Blaine wasn't a doctor. But this wasn't normal.

He stood up from the chair and rushed out, running.

He darted through the hallway, not sure what he was looking for- a doctor, yes, of course. Even they unconscious people knew that.

Blaine felt a hand stop him short. He had to look up to see the woman only an inch taller than him, probably courtesy of some enormous heels of some sort. "Excuse me," She hissed. "No running, please."

"Are- are you a doctor?" Blaine shouted, distressed. A few more people in the hallway stopped to see what was going on, but most likely quickly dismissed it as an escapee from the clinically insane unit.

"Yes," She said calmly. "Can I help you?"

"It's the- the people! In the- the coma-place-thing! They're all shouting! All of them!" He said, pointing a finger behind him to the coma unit. He sounded like an idiot, but God knew he was just confused.

She raised an eyebrow at the breathless boy, his school uniform jacket tied around his waist and his gelled back hair in some funny lump from running his hand through it. She seemed doubtful, but looked her clipboard for a moment before agreeing to come silently, walking down the halls so white they looked sterilized, and smelled it, too.

Blaine followed her long but paced strides. She looked to be in no hurry, and Blaine's mind was shouting at a deafening tone- "_Hurry up! Hurry up!_"

They reached the unit, and she walked in, eyeing the patients that appeared silent. Blaine fell confused, more confused than he was when it started. He could only wait for one would come out of his mouth now.

"So, they all called at once, that's what you're saying. All of them- all the _coma _patients." She said, annoyed. Blaine bit his lip. Maybe he was just as insane as this woman was implying he was. "You appear to go to private school; at least I know it's not _my_ taxes paying for your terrible education. You do understand that these people are all _comatosed- _don't you?"

"Yes, doctor," Blaine said. "That's why I-"

"Then _why _are you wasting my time?" She snapped.

"Because they called for you," Blaine explained.

"Me?" She asked, looking at him like he was only the king of idiocy and insanity and whatnot.

Blaine nodded. He began to open his mouth to say the word that had been repeated in this room so many times, but another man behind him finished the thought for him. He swallowed his unhealthy fear of whatever phenomenon was going on and let the woman look behind her, shocked.

The same thing was repeated, the same man starting it and the same people joining in at the same order until the word "Doctor" was being thrown around the room into a clutter of the simple word that was currently sending violent chills down Blaine's spine.

* * *

><p>Kurt stopped his pacing short when he saw the man's head move lazily, until he was picking it up and his eyes were starting to blink open.<p>

Kurt stood in front of the staircase, leaned against the beige wall and said the words he'd rehearsed in his head as the man began to gain awareness on the situation.

"Breaking and entering, send some backup, I've got him restrained." He said, lowering his voice much more than normal and held the plastic walkie-talkie to his mouth. It came off rather perfect, his voice didn't crack once and his emotions didn't show through his face. Kurt Hummel really could act when the deed was requested upon him.

"You- sit still." He snapped at the man, who was sitting up now, watching Kurt. Kurt pointed a finger at him, getting right up in his face as planned inside his jumbled and mushy brain that had trapped him in this mess.

"You hit me with a baseball bat." He accused, still a bit dazed, his eyes narrowing like he was still figuring that out.

"You're breaking and entering." Kurt accused right back. It was so perfect. He was so happy with his act he almost forgot he was supposed to be afraid right now.

He just sort of stared at Kurt for a moment, blinking a whole lot in confusion, before he tried to get up. Kurt held in his sigh of relief when he saw his clumsy trap had worked and the man was pulled back down before he could get too far up.

"Well that's much better, oh, come on, really, just what I needed." He muttered as he was pulled back down. He didn't question the restraint, which was rather appreciated. If Kurt did have handcuffs, he would have used them, but only some cheap plastic ones had come with this costume that he could have easily gotten out of. If Kurt could do it, it seemed as though anyone could.

"Could you just shut up now, I've got backup on the way." Kurt threatened. He pulled his belt up again, trying to look fierce while doing it, but just ending up looking like an idiot with too-big pants, which was exactly the case.

"Hang on- wait- you're a police man." He said.

Kurt let his eyebrows raise, putting a smug smile on his face, "And your breaking and entering. See how this works?" Of course, as much as he loved his act, and as good as he did it, the feeling of nostalgia was creeping up on him from behind and all he wanted to do was accuse this man of being _so late. _

"So what are you doing here? Where's Delilah?" He asked frantically, pulling his arm on the trap, like if he pulled hard enough he could get out, which was probably true.

Kurt tried to hide his sorrow when he recognized the word 'Delilah,' more nostalgia coming upon him, stalking him from behind and threatening to fill his mind with terrible memories.

"Delilah Bell?" Kurt asked, shoving his hands uncomfortably in his pockets and trying to hide his fear.

"Yes, Delilah. The little boy. Where is he?" He asked. Kurt's swallowed down all his feelings, some he couldn't even identify. He was confused; he knew that feeling inside and out. He was terribly, painfully nostalgic and his heart felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and jump out. "I promised him five minutes. But the engines were phasing, I suppose I might have gone a bit far. Did something happen to him?"

Kurt's breath was falling short. It was heartbreaking, the way he leaned forward until he couldn't go any farther, his eyes wide in concern.

But the boy he was looking for was gone. There was no Delilah Bell anymore and never again would there be. After enduring that much pain, fantasies can be easily identified as fantasies, and Delilah Bell couldn't do that, Kurt Hummel could. And Kurt Hummel needed to suck up the fact he was dreaming, or that this was some sick prank, and get himself together.

"Delilah Bell hasn't lived here in a long time." Kurt said hoarsely. And he was only speaking the truth.

"How long?" He asked. _Oh, he knows nothing- nothing at all. _

The things Kurt had been through because of a damn _fantasy. _He'd spent so much of his childhood believing, _waiting. _This wasn't real. Nothing felt real anymore, though. It was this strange emptiness- whatever the sentimental void in Kurt's soul was, this man was to blame for. Kurt just spent so long with this emptiness in his life that never would have been empty if this man hadn't been the thing to fill in the first place.

"Six months." Kurt blurted. It was the first thing that popped into his head.

"No, no, no." He groaned, in an almost-sarcastic tone. He slumped back, leaning on the stair behind him. "I can't be six months late, I said five minutes." He clarified, nodding at Kurt. He continued to be petrified. "I promised."

_You did promise. You promised._

Kurt turned around. He didn't know what he was doing when he pulled the plastic walkie-talkie to his mouth again and turned away.

"What happened to him?" He shouted, "What happened to Delilah Bell?"

"Sargent, it's me again." Kurt said in to the walkie-talkie, his back turned to the man. "Hurry up with that back up, this man knows something about Delilah Bell."

Kurt sniffled a bit when he'd finished the words that had only slid out of his mouth like butter. He ran the ugly sleeve of the shirt over his eyes, reminding himself now was _not _the time to cry.

* * *

><p>Blaine stood behind the doctor awkwardly, watching her pull the eye of some random, unconscious man open. She sort of inspected his monitors and whatnot, doing the kind of thing doctors do.<p>

They ruckus among these zombies has stopped after a moment. Blaine had really felt like throwing a, "Told you so," into the room as payback from all those are-you-really-that-stupid looks he'd received from her, but he decided the situation was a bit too serious for childish insults.

"I don't think they were even conscious," She muttered to herself, closing the man's eye. She looked at Blaine, no look of empathy or sorry on her face.

"Well, ma'am, there's another thing… see," Blaine muttered. "I don't understand it, I don't know why, but…"

"Yes?" She urged.

"I've seen almost all of them- walking around town and-" Blaine explained, his thick eyebrows melding together as he felt concern with himself.

"Excuse me? As in _these _patients?" She asked. It was funny- even after that entire thing she was still giving him looks that accused him of insanity.

"Yes! I mean, I don't get it either, but-"

"These patients are under twenty-four hour supervision- we know if their _blood pressure _changes." She hissed. "They're not walking around town and-"

"Please!" Blaine begged, talking over her shrill voice. She stopped; looking almost infuriated like Blaine was suggesting she couldn't do her job or something. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I have pictures, all-"

"I'm going to have to ask you leave." She said firmly. "I have the right to dismiss any visitors at any time and you are disrupting the-"

"_Please!" _Blaine shouted over her, holding out his phone, "Just look!"

"If you don't leave, I'm going to have to call security." She threatened, her voice overlapping his, getting louder each time.

Blaine gave up. He looked at the woman for a moment, and bit his lip before he could snap any nasty comments at her. He stormed out, not pushing anything or slamming any doors, but the way his footsteps echoed against the tile and he practically radiated the annoyance he was feeling said it all.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, preparing a somewhat sane explanation to his mom for why he wouldn't he there when she got back.

* * *

><p>"I need to speak to whoever lives in this house right now." He said, cool and collected, sounding business-like as he rubbed his wrist.<p>

Kurt leaned forward and slapped his hand away from where he struggled against it, trying to slip his hand out without Kurt's knowing. "I live in this house." Kurt announced.

"But you're the police." He protested.

"Yes! And I live here! You've got a problem with that?" Kurt shouted. He didn't let himself question the words coming out of his mouth.

Kurt waited for an answer, possibly some snarky comment or another protest. But he watched the man's eyes dart about the room for a moment before he asked, hushed, "How many rooms?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"On this floor. How many rooms on this floor? Count them for me, now." He demanded, his face solemn.

"Why?" Kurt asked, putting a hand on his hip as he questioned him.

"Because, it will change your life."

Kurt gave him a look, but answered him, not turning around to prove he knew the number of doors without counting, if that was this man's game. "Five." He said. He still didn't around, counting each door and pointing to it with a finger without even looking. "One, two, three, four, and five."

"Six." The man added, insisting.

"Six?" Kurt asked. Was this a joke, or some sort of twisted metaphor?

"Look."

"_Where_?" Kurt was annoyed now. He was nearly sure this was some funky metaphor that would make him think about life in some weird new light.

"Exactly where you don't want to look, where you never want to look. The corner of your eye. Look behind you."

Kurt felt the man's ominous fall upon him. Of course- when he looked behind him there would be nothing there…

He grew worried, every millisecond, the pressure got heavier. He felt him looking exactly there- the place he- _no one- _ever, ever wanted to look. And there, from the corner of his eye, he saw it. The one thing that was supposed to be there even less than the man in front of him.

"That's- that is _not _possible." Kurt mumbled. The door- it was just there, so innocent and so normal- and yet, it was so wrong. Unless a contractor had hid behind his back and suddenly created a new wall in a matter of minutes, that door was not supposed to be there. "_How _is that possible?"

"There's a perception field around the door. Sensed it last time I was here. _Should_ have seen it." He explained quickly from behind Kurt. Kurt really paid no attention, only hearing a string of fast-paced noises.

"That's a whole room. A whole room I never even noticed." Kurt whispered.

"The field just stops your noticing." He continued. "Something came here a long time ago, to hide, and it's still hiding. And you _need_ to _let me go_ now." He demanded, shouting to grab Kurt's attention, which he was losing rapidly fast.

"I don't have the key, I must of lost it…" Kurt whispered, walking towards the door.

"How could you of lost it?" He shouted. Kurt walked faster, nearing the door, staring at the thing he'd walked by so many times and was just seeing. "Stay away from that door!" He yelled, again. So much _yelling, _gosh.

"Do not touch that door!" He commanded, just as Kurt put his hand on the doorknob, twisting it like it had something to prove.

"Listen to me!" He shouted. "Do not open that door!"

Kurt heard nothing but the annoyance in his voice, words lost on him as he opened the door.

"Why does no one ever listen to me?" He complained. "Do I just have a face nobody listens to?"

Kurt felt the room, literally felt it, as though it was breathing on him, the inanimate object telling him all its secrets. Everything was neglected, the white wall paper fading beige, peeling, crates in the corner and stacked against the wall, the only real thing in there being an old and corroding wooden rocking chair that looked like Goldilocks had sat in, an entire arm on the floor, dislocated from its real place. Kurt almost felt a pang of sympathy for the room, the only light coming from the cracks of a boarded-up window and the elegant violet drapes the color of wine.

Kurt was so extraordinarily scared, and yet he couldn't help but run his hand along the walls, pulling bits of wallpaper with him.

"My screwdriver, where is it? Silver thing? Blue at the end?" He shouted for Kurt, who listened, staring curiously at the thing on one of the crates that matched the description. "Where did it go?"

"There's nothing here." Kurt noted. He felt himself informing the man of this, like there was nothing to be afraid of, really. It was just a misunderstood room-

An _invisible, _misunderstood room. Kurt needed desperately to get back to reality, to let the real, instinctual fear kick in so he'd run out of this house screaming and arms flailing. But he couldn't find himself doing it.

"Whatever's in there, you can't be seeing the whole room. What makes you _think _you can see it?" He shouted to him. "Now, please, just _get out._"

"Silver and blue at the end?" Kurt asked, glancing wearily at the thing.

"My screwdriver? Yeah." He responded.

"It's here."

"Most of rolled under the door," Kurt heard.

He swallowed his fear. "Yes, must of… and then it must have jumped up on the table."

"Get out of there." He hissed, and when Kurt made no move to escape, he repeated himself, fiercely shouting, "Get out of there! _Now!_"

Kurt stared wistfully at the screwdriver, drowning in some purple goo, just as raggedy as The Doctor himself, appearing to be on the verge of falling apart. Kurt knew it was the same magic wand that fixed the crack in his wall. He couldn't let it just die here, or whatever magic screwdrivers did when they broke. Kurt assumed they died.

He carefully picked it up with both hands, using as little skin as it possibly took to pick it up. The goo hit his fingers, and he cringed at the grotesque substance, wiping it on the side of the box.

"Get out of there!" He repeated. Kurt could hear him fighting the lock, trying to bring the wooden pole on the staircase down. Kurt ignored him, slowly picking up the wand, perplexed by the goo that stuck on the thing.

Kurt felt the monster behind him before it even touched him. His eyes widened and his limbs froze. He looked around frantically, looking for the creature stalking him.

"What is it? What's going on?" The man yelled at Kurt.

"There's nothing here," He reassured himself, "But..." He whispered, keeping his panic contained inside of him.

"In the corner of your eye." He said.

Kurt's breathed hitched when he swore he saw a flash of blue behind him that wasn't there before. "What is it?"

"Don't look it at- if it knows you've seen it, it will kill you." He shouted. Kurt's fingers began to violently shake from where they grasped the wand. His breath was too fast, but it felt like he wasn't getting any oxygen to his brain at all.

"Don't look at it!" He instructed again. Kurt's head turned when he felt the hot breath on his neck, only purely by instinct.

"Do _not _look at it!" He repeated.

Kurt's head turned again, and this time, it met glassy yellow marble-eyes. The thick blue worm opened its mouth wider then Kurt's head, it's sharp and thin fangs sharper then blades. It hissed, sticking its long, round red tongue out at Kurt and hissing like a snake.

It was then his scream escaped his lips, possibly higher than the average female.

"Get _out!_" The man shouted, and for once, Kurt was not the least bit hesitant to follow his order. He raced out the room, slamming the door hard behind him. He ran to the Doctor, tossing him the screwdriver as he put his head to the wall, panting. He knew very well there were tears coming down his cheeks, but it was only a sane reaction, being he'd just come in close contact with his murder.

The man pointed the screwdriver at the door, and the _click_ on the other side of the room implied something had been done. "Oh, what has the bad alien done to you?" He said. Kurt felt a queasy pang in his stomach at 'alien.'

"Will that door hold it?" Kurt whispered, absolutely terrified.

"Yes, of course, it's an inter-dimensional multiform from outer space. They're all terrified of wood." He said sarcastically, and Kurt, by no means, appreciated it.

A light, a bright yellow light, started appearing from the other side of the door, illuminating every crack. Kurt only peered at it for a second before turning his head away. He was going to die, anyway- what was the point of watching some mysterious shiny light flicker on the other end of some invisible door?

"What's it doing?" Kurt moaned. The man looked up from where he was making his screwdriver light up and pointing it at the bike lock.

"I don't know," He admitted calmly. "Run, just go. Your back up's coming, you'll be fine."

"There is no backup." Kurt hissed as he stared blankly at the wall.

"No, on the radio," He explained to Kurt, confused. "You called for back-up."

"It's a _pretend _radio." Kurt snapped. He ripped it off his shirt, throwing the hollow plastic toy on the ground. "It's plastic!"

"But you're a police man." He disputed.

"It's a Halloween costume!" Kurt snapped. "It's not even mine!"

The man only stared at him, confused, before he was bluntly interrupted by the knocking down of the door. Kurt stepped back, but did it wrong and fell on the rug.

Kurt squeezed the fabric on his pants for comfort, his eyes following the man that walked out. He almost relaxed- _it was only just a man and his dog. _It was the kind of man that made you wish you lived in a different neighborhood and the kind of dog that made you want to hide your children, but it wasn't a giant blue worm with glassy yellow eyes, so it was good enough for Kurt.

"It's just a man," Kurt whispered.

"No, it isn't." The Doctor corrected. "Look at the faces."

Kurt did as told; paying great attention to the faces like there was something he was missing, until it popped out and hit him in the face like a speeding car.

The dog growled, a mean and violent growl you'd expect from a dog of that size and that ratty black color, but the dog's mouth was shut. The man, on the other hand, despite making no noise, his mouth was open wide, and he barked at Kurt. The dog barked, and the man's mouth was the one opening and closing.

"What… what _is _that?" Kurt stuttered.

"It's one creature," the Doctor explained, almost smug with his knowledge, "One creature disguised as two. Clever ol' multiform. A bit of a rough job though- got the voice a bit juggled, did you?" He asked to the man in a dirty handy-man outfit.

"Mind me, where'd you get the pattern from?" He continued, the man's neck snapping in place as it turned to look at the Doctor. "You'd need a physic link, a life feed, how'd you fix that?"

The man growled at him, frustrated. Kurt's eyes only dashed between the man in the raggedy clothes, the man who apparently knew _everything _now, and the man who barked like a dog. This was all too confusing.

The man stepped forward, his dog doing the same thing at the same time, the same way. He growled again, before he opened his mouth and the same freakishly long fangs as the blue-worm monster appeared in his mouth.

"Stay boy!" The Doctor yelled at him. Kurt felt his hands cover his eyes, hide him from the thing. It was a childish thing to do, but he'd probably be dead in ten minutes anyway, so what did it matter?

"Don't worry, we're safe. You wannna know why? He sent for backup." The Doctor assured.

"I didn't send for backup!" Kurt reminded a bit annoyed.

"I know," the Doctor said, mimicking Kurt's tone. "That was a clever lie to save our lives. Okay- yeah! No backup! And that's why we're safe, alone we're not a threat to you, if we _had_ backup then you'd have to kill us."

Kurt just gave him a look, wondering where he was getting his conclusions now. But somehow, it had seemed to calm the dog/man down a bit.

All the chaos was interrupted, then, suddenly, by some booming voice that had an unidentified source_. "Attention Prisoner Zero, the human residence is surrounded."_

Kurt shuddered. That was when it dawned on him- the Prisoner Zero that had haunted Kurt's nightmares all his life was right there, trying to kill him. Disturbing, but with so many worries right now, that was dismissed to the bottom of the list.

"What was that?" Kurt whispered.

"Well, that would be backup." He answered Kurt before looking back to the psychotic monster of some sort. "Okay! One more time-" He shouted over the echoing, monotone voice that was repeating itself. "We do have backup and that's definitely why we're safe."

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

"We're safe apart from, you know, incineration." He admitted, glancing up at Kurt, whose eyes went wide at the monotonic chant. Everything was just _death _today, wasn't it?

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

The thing wandered into the door by its right, its movements robotic and expressionless. Kurt's eyes followed it wearily as it marched off into Finn's room. Could something like that leave some sort of disease in Finn's room? More importantly, if that were to happen, could Kurt catch it?

The man pounded the screwdriver on the ground, groaning, "Come on, _work!" _like it would make any difference.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

The thing obeyed after a moment, the top lighting blue, and he hastily waved it over the lock.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

After a moment, the lock just- unlocked? It didn't make sense, but, of course, not one thing in the past twenty minutes since this guy showed up had made sense if it didn't make Kurt question his sanity altogether.

Now that he could, the man stood up, and sort of flailed his wrist around. The plastic rope was knotted rather well, especially seeing as how Kurt's similarities to a boy scout stopped at gender. He tugged at the thing while he shouted, "Run!"

Kurt did so without having to be asked twice. He flew down the stairs at an unnaturally fast pace, and figured he'd be falling right on his face any second now; he tended to do so when he got nervous. The man ran after Kurt, his screwdriver in his mouth as he pulled on the cord.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

Kurt flew out the door, and it smacked against the wall outside with such force he didn't question the fact the cheap shingles were probably broken. The man immediately followed, slamming the door shut and pointing his screwdriver at it with the hand the cord was still wrapped around.

"Halloween costume?" He asked questioningly.

"Yes!" Kurt said breathlessly as the man retracted from the door. "Now what's going on?" He shouted.

"You _pretended _to be a police man?" He argued, running away and into the yard.

"You broke into my house!" Kurt shouted over him, flicking his head back so his bangs wouldn't fall in front of his face as he ran behind him. Even the best of hairspray wasn't reliable under this much stress and physical activity. "What's going on?" He repeated before he could once again change the subject. "Just tell me!"

Kurt stopped short when the man stopped at the huge blue police box. Kurt felt himself drowning in the unnecessary and unreal nostalgia. "Tell me." Kurt demanded, losing his attitude, standing still a few feet away from the man and his box.

"An escaped prisoner had been hiding in your spare room disguised as a man and a dog and some other aliens are about to incinerate your house. Anymore questions?" He explained hastily and annoyed, turning to the door of the police box.

"Yes!" Kurt shouted, frustrated as he pulled at his hair.

"Me too." He muttered.

See- there was two reasons why Kurt wanted to strangle this man right now. One: so this guy just walked about into Kurt's life when he was _six, _left him curious and lonely for twelve years, and _boom- _calmly strays right back in? What kind of _jerk _did that? Two: And then, after all that, he left six million questions to be asked and he didn't even _know_ the answer? Did he just expect Kurt to be _okay _with that? He could barely stand the weekly gap between each _Grey's Anatomy, _how was he supposed to withstand _this? _

The man pulled at the door on the box to no avail, shouting, "No, no, no!" as he did so. Kurt just blinked a few times. He was starting to strongly dislike whatever happened after this man was so upset he felt the need to repeat himself. First a slimy blue worm that turns into a man/dog, now what?

"Don't do that! Not now!" He shouted, slapping the metal door with his hand. "It's still rebuilding, not letting us in," He complained.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

Kurt flinched when he heard the dog barks from behind him. He turned around before his brain could convince him that he really didn't want to do that, and instantly regretted doing so. The man and the dog stood side by side in Finn's window, the man still barking while the dog remained silent.

Kurt grabbed the man by his shoulders, pulling him away from the box. "Come on," Kurt shouted over the booming, _"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated," _and ran.

"Wait!" The man complained, his feet not moving as Kurt pulled on his cord-clad wrist with every muscle in his body, even if the majority lingered of it was in his brain and were only concerned about pop culture and fashion. "Hang on! Wait!"

The man escaped Kurt's uneasy grip without struggling for long, and pointed to the tree stump sitting near the box. "What happened to that tree?" He shouted like it was the worst thing in the world. Kurt watched him flail his arms around, one draped with a heavy cord, "There was a huge tree when I left! With a tree house and branches and _leaves! _I destroyed it, wrecked all the branches and the house on top!"

"It got cut down!" Kurt shouted, frustrated. "Now let's go!"

"Yes, but it's been cut down so long! It had to have been ten years, ten years at the _least!" _He babbled, and while throwing his arms about, the cord finally wiggled off his wrist, flying into the ground, but he didn't flinch, if he noticed at all.

He examined the remains of the tree for a moment, bobbing his head sideways before he stood back up and faced Kurt, who was looking a tad pale. "Twelve years!" He exclaimed. "I'm not six months late, I'm twelve years late."

"He's _coming,_" Kurt urged. He wanted to get out of here. He didn't want to address this with this stupid dream-crushing _fantasy. _

"You said six months, why did you say six months?" He interrogated, leaning in closer on Kurt until he had to bend back.

"We've _got _to go," Kurt hissed, but it came out gentle and breathless, which was far from the effect he was looking for.

"This matters! This is important!" He scolded, taking a step forward as Kurt stumbled back. "So why did you say six months?"

Kurt broke, leaning back in on him so he had to bend back this time. He shouted, much louder the necessary and much less polite then what should have been. He was so angry, so _crushed. _This man had just _disappeared, _neglected Kurt's own existence for years, painful, stressful, long years. In those years, he discovered what it was to be alone. This man was possibly the only thing that had kept Kurt from imploding. This man had been his hope.

_"Why did you say five minutes?" _

What kind of hope destroyed you like that?


	3. The Eleventh Hour Part Three

A/N:

So this chapter is extraordinary short in comparison with extraordinarily long chapters- but for those of you who haven't heard, the apocalypse is tomorrow. I really just wanted to update this before we all die- yeah! So here... now I have to go board up my windows and cry in the dark corner of my room-

Nah. Just kidding. I'm celebrating my last living moments with some Glee, some Doctor Who on Blu-Ray, and watching my brand new copy of Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows- well... I rented it. But it's not like I'll be alive when I return it, so whatever, I might as well own it.

So excuse any pathetic mistakes, I wanted to get this up quick- and I read it over but possibly not thoroughly enough. I never know.

You can read now. I hope I move you to tears or something awesome like that. Review! Your beautiful feedback makes me feel _special! _

_BTW- Best wishes for tomorrow... I seriously doubt the worlds going to end but the hype makes me sort of maliciously excited. Not that I like it when people go paranoid... but it's something to taunt my little sister with, so it's good enough for me. Hope we all make it to May 22nd. And if you have no idea what I'm talking about... seriously, I don't know how you missed it, but look it up. I find this man very amusing- a Christian predicting the end of the world even though the bible clearly states that no one knows when the world will end but the Lord himself. Somebody needs to study up, huh?  
><em>

**The Eleventh Hour: Part Three-**

* * *

><p>"Why did you say five minutes?" Kurt shouted accusingly, tears welling up in his eyes.<p>

_"What?"_ The man whispered to himself, staring at Kurt as his face fell in perfect harmony as Kurt's. Kurt had felt nauseous just by saying the words aloud.

"Come on." Kurt whispered, trying to blink shut his always-too-wide eyes and change the subject.

_"What?" _He repeated, simply eyeing over Kurt like he was some anomaly of human kind. The worst part, though, was that Kurt was used to that look. This one was much gentler, more thoughtful, but after years of abuse Kurt couldn't stand questioning.

"Come on," Kurt said, crossing his arms across his chest as he eyed the pebbles on the ground beneath his feet. "We have to go."

"Just- _what?_"

Kurt's patience wasn't long, and it wasn't a secret. He grabbed the man by his wrist, pulling him out of the yard, running. The man didn't protest, he simply followed.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

They made it to the street, Kurt promising himself not to look back at the barking he heard behind him. His mind was on overload, and every time his thoughts rang true he felt like he couldn't bare it much longer before he simply passed out.

They darted down the street, covered in pastel houses and corroding picket fences that desperately needed to be painted. The man ran without Kurt pulling him by the time they left the driveway, but he stopped by the end of the short street. The sound of cars flying by on the main street was annoying, but the man found no problem screaming over it.

"You're Delilah." He accused.

"Don't call me that. That's not my name." Kurt hissed, walking in front of him. He could just run away, but his thighs were starting to protest already. He was forced to stretch and whatnot daily in order to maintain the size and shape that was Kurt Hummel, but never was he forced to run with stress and confusion picking at his brain while he screamed at a man who he was still considering to be his imagination.

"Delilah Bell! You're just a little boy!" He insisted, keeping pace with Kurt.

"Not anymore." Kurt said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest again now that he could.

"What happened?" He asked like he didn't know what _aging _was.

"Twelve years." Kurt replied, not turning to look at him. "That's what happened."

"You hit me with a baseball bat." He stated.

"Twelve years." Kurt answered, as though that made them even. "Twelve years and this goddamn _traumatic_ childhood."

"Traumatic childhood?" He questioned.

"Boys." Kurt answered, balling his hands into fists, trying to convince himself he was too strong to cry right now. "They made fun of me _every_ waking moment."

"Why?"

Kurt turned to him, his face sorrowful, almost depressing as his mesmerizing teal eyes gleamed, damp with tears he was holding back. The confusion and painful nostalgia was clearly shown of that porcelain, small face. "Because you don't exist. They knew that, and unfortunately, I was too stubborn to get it in my head you're not real."

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

Kurt glanced around for the familiar phrase he thought he'd escaped, his train of thought breaking with the loud, shrill squeal of the electronic sound equipment that followed the familiar, monotonic phrase. He glared at the man in the ice cream truck parked across the street in some old, neglected park, feeling fear as he watched the innocent lemon yellow speakers emit the same, horrific sentence. How was it following him? Didn't that only happen in horror movies?

Was Kurt _living _a horror movie?

It seemed so.

The teenage boy looked bored as he lounged inside the ice cream truck decorated with posters of treats, but the pudgy boy with too much acne's look of dazed boredom turned to confusion as he smacked the speakers in a not-so effective way.

"Oh, no, oh no, no." Kurt whimpered, his eyes growing wide and his face growing distressed as he ran a helpless hand through his hair, completely oblivious to how he was ruining the hour he spent on it this morning. His hand felt stale as the hairspray rubbed off, but he didn't notice as he found himself clinging onto the man's tattered blue shirt, trying to inch behind him to out something between him and the ice cream truck.

Kurt's feet didn't move as the shirt he was ever-so-desperately clinging to jerk away as man frantically ran to the ice cream truck. Kurt crossed his arms tightly over his chest, looking around as anxiety drowned out all coherent thoughts and his breaths came in little fear-induced shudders.

Pictures of the blue snake-thing, or _whatever _that was, flashed through his brain, its huge mouth expanding as yellowing, long and slender fangs were revealed, hissing angrily at Kurt as he wearily stood before it. The memory was to crystal clear, and it made Kurt extremely nauseous just thinking about it, and felt like he was going to pass out when his horrid mind took it a step further, and in his head, he saw that snake with its glimmering, slimy skin twisting its way around his neck, its razor-sharp fangs sinking their way into his soft skull, through the mat of brown, stiff hair.

Kurt felt a hot tear run down his face. He couldn't shake the grotesque fantasy, and desperately needed to sit down.

"What's that? Why are you playing that?" Kurt heard the man shout at the teenager. The words reached his brain with a burning sensation, even though they posed no threat, only trying to help him. The words weren't even directed at him.

Kurt had closed his eyes to block the glaring sun, only adding to his lightheadedness. He tried to even out his breaths, focusing only on the conversation a few feet away. He heard the teenager's defense in his puberty-confused husky voice, "It's not _supposed _to be playing that! It's the stupid radio!"

Kurt could still hear the dim, _"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated," _coming from the speakers that had been only slightly hushed. Kurt pulled himself together, and all was just well until-

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

Kurt spun behind him, his eyes open again as he looked, open-mouthed, to the woman behind him in jogging gear, smacking her cell phone impatiently against her thigh as it blared the message at top volume. Kurt felt the panic he'd almost doused rise uncomfortably in his chest.

_"Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence or the human residence will be incinerated." _

Kurt spun around again, watching a woman play with her phone, confused, as she held it up to her ear.

"Doctor," Kurt said, stumbling over the name as he found this the only thing he knew his as, _The Doctor. _"What's going on?"

The man, The _Doctor, _ran away, not bothering to answer Kurt's question. He was just like a dog, wasn't he? Ran away, ignoring him, every chance he got.

Kurt looked about, hesitating for a moment before he followed him, jogging after him. The Doctor jumped over bushes and fences, leading to Kurt's annoyance as he took the time to step over them.

The Doctor took no modestly as he allowed himself to crash through the house, opening the sliding door on the back porch and allowing himself into the living room. Kurt ran up the back porch after him, preparing himself to scold him like he'd scold Finn on his obsession with flannel.

"Hello! Sorry to burst in, we're doing a special on television faults in this area." The Doctor lied quickly, stumbling over a pizza box on the floor and landing with his foot in it. He gave an innocent grin, scraping his foot of tomato sauce on the dirty, shaggy blue rug. Kurt cringed at the sight, carefully avoiding all strewn laundry and looked at the petrified woman with an innocent expression similar to that of the man standing next to him.

The Doctor looked at Kurt's police uniform for a moment, and added, "Also crimes."

The scrawny woman, who'd earlier been standing in front of the television set, flicking through channels, backed up against the ugly blue walls, waving her remote at them threateningly, "Stay away! My son has a gun and I know how to use it!"

The Doctor sighed, looking behind the distressed woman, to the TV. Kurt looked at it, too, swallowing the lump of fear in his throat as a single blue eye looked about the screen on the cheap set, frantically repeating the same thing he'd heard far too many times today. Kurt recognized that eye, though, from a thousand nightmares that lived on from when he was six to today. His eyes strayed the water-stained ceiling, trying to block out the memories or painful illusions from his nightmares.

"He's a policeman, ma'am," The Doctor reminded helpfully, elbowing Kurt. Kurt gave a halfhearted smile, but his eyes were still glued to the corner of the ceiling. "He won't hurt you. And we'll pretend we never heard what you just said.

"But anyway!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Your television set."

"I- I was just about to call the company," She stuttered nervously as The Doctor took the remote, nodding as he flipped through the channels, to no avail. "It's on every channel."

"Kurt?" She suddenly whispered in Kurt's direction, her voice growing accusing as she pointed as she pointed a terribly-manicured finger at him. "You're not a police man! You can't be! You're Kurt Hummel, you're only a freshman!"

"A senior, actually," Kurt corrected, annoyed. He was about to ask her how she knew him- his role in Glee club never made him famous, or anything like that- before The Doctor cut him off.

"Kurt? Who's _Kurt?_" He spat, over annunciating the single syllable in disgust, leaning away from the TV as though he hated such a name.

"My name," Kurt spat back.

"No, your name is Delilah. Delilah Bell." He corrected.

"_No," _Kurt hissed, his mind flooding with memories of cruel boys from elementary school. "It's not. Don't call me that. It's a girl's name. Now that I'm not _six _anymore, that's offensive."

"Why would that be offensive?" The Doctor asked, turning all the way to Kurt, the woman looking between them, confused. "Delilah is a beautiful name, boy or girl." He pointed out.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you noticed? The too-perfect hair? The high voice? Hell, when I was six I think I still played with Barbie dolls. You haven't even come to any conclusions? Seriously, throw any judgments at me, they're probably right. I'm a walking stereotype."

"No, why would I- _what?" _He asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion. He looked innocent, thoughtful, and for a moment, Kurt didn't want to ruin it with the truth, but that feeling didn't last long.

"I'm gay!" Kurt shouted, frustrated, his hands flying in the air. The woman backed up uncomfortably, but neither The Doctor nor Kurt even acknowledged her presence.

The Doctor nodded. "Okay. You're gay." He said, simply stating it, and sounded like he was waiting for more.

"Yes, I am." Kurt agreed, slowly nodding like he was trying to explain this to an unintelligent child. Or Brittany.

"I really still don't get it. And I'm not one who often can't catch on." He explained, huffing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Kurt looked at him, possibly more confused than when he'd materialized out of this air when he was little. He certainty hadn't seemed this naïve.

"I'm gay. You know what that means, right? Not like, 'I'm happy.' Like, I like boys. As in _like-like _if we want to put it that way." Kurt said. This really was worse than when he was trying to console Brittany as to the magic fairies in Tinkerbelle couldn't kill her because they weren't real.

"Yes, I know."

"Okay, and Delilah is a girl's name."

"So I've heard. From you. Just five minutes ago."

"Well, I'm not a girl, am I?"

"No. But Delilah is a beautiful name. I don't understand why you don't still go by it."

"I'm not a girl. It had come to my understanding this was clear to you after you addressed me as a 'policeman.'"

"I understand you are male. I understand you're gay. Know could you just get on with it? This is only going in circles, and I do _not _have positive feelings towards circles. Those little never-ending monstrosities."

Kurt sighed, frustrated. "So because I'm a gay male, people call me a girl, some other offensive terms, but I have certainty been referred to as a girl before. It's offending. And so, Delilah is a girl's name. So you calling me Delilah is like calling me a girl. Ultimately, it's offending."

The Doctor eyed him curiously. "I really don't understand this entire difference between 'girl's names' and 'boy's names.' Delilah is just a _name. _You humans are so picky, it's a beautiful name, and I'm not trying to offend anyone when I say the name Delilah suits you… _Kurt._" He said, saying the final word with disgust.

Kurt's cheeks flushed. He was so accepting and… _Frankly, it's a beautiful name, and I'm not trying to offend anyone when I say the name Delilah suits you. _Did that mean he thought… you know, Kurt was beautiful? Kurt wasn't used to acceptance, and certainty not being called _beautiful. _Kurt's eyes wandered the man, and the question of his sexuality was planted into his head and wasn't quite ready to come out any time soon. Did calling someone beautiful count as flirting?

"Oi!" The woman interrupted, pushing her greasy, oil black, unkempt pixie cut back with her hand. "Boy, your sexuality is great and all, but I just want to know what's wrong with my damn television if you don't mind."

"Mom!" A voice yelled from down the hallway. Kurt's breath caught as he realized why this woman knew his name. It was even worse when his step-brother's location was clarified as he followed the mohawked boy down the hallway. "What the hell are you screaming- _Kurt?"_

Kurt gave a halfhearted smile, giving a small wave with his fingers. "Hi, Puck." He mumbled. "So this is… your house… uh, nice, uh, nice… uhm…" Kurt's eyes darted around the cluttered mess as he desperately looked for something that could he could compliment. "Nice… mother?" He offered, not that he found Puck's mother, her attitude, or her baggy shirt that resembled a potato sack nice at all.

"What the hell are you doing in my house? And- _God, _why are you dressed as a police man?" He demanded. Finn followed the boy, a shiny black laptop held protectively across his chest. His mouth hung open at an awkward angle. Kurt suspected it not to be out of surprise at his random whereabouts similar to his, or rather that Finn was shocked by the outfit that Kurt desperately wished he'd covered up. Even Finn, the God of Plaid and Flannel, was disgusted by the fashion disaster.

"It's, uh… long story." Kurt offered with a shrug.

"I- uh, wow, okay, and I'm sure I don't want to know. Who's that guy?" Puck said, gesturing to The Doctor, who had occupied with flipping through channels on the cheap, old radio on the bookcase mostly filled with stray papers and old used paper plates.

"That," Kurt said, looking behind him, "Would be… uhm…" Kurt wondered if he really should address him as _The Doctor. _Even if that was what he went by, it sounded awkward and a tad clichéd.

"The Doctor." He answered for Kurt, not looking away from his radio.

"Wanky." Puck said, grinning as Kurt's face grew scarlet. "Is that, like, a gay thing?"

"Puck," Kurt hissed, "You can make anything sound perverted."

"What kind of name is 'The Doctor'?" Finn wondered aloud.

"The good kind," The Doctor responded blankly, not looking away from the radio that he fiddled with.

"Wait a sec-" Finn said. "That… that story you wrote that Mom made me read to support you or whatever-" Finn started, and catching the look of offence on Kurt's face, he excused himself with, "I mean, Kurt, it was, like, _nine _pages, and had a really tiny font. But anyway, I thought… didn't you… oh my God! That's The Doctor! What did you call it, ahh...? The Raggedy Doctor! And it even make sense, his shirt is all screwed up and torn! In the story you said he called himself the- wait, how is that possible? This is real life," He argued with himself.

"I… uh… don't know what you're talking about." Kurt mumbled. Of course, he knew what Finn meant, but in all honesty, even Kurt wasn't quite sure what was really going on.

"He is!" Finn continued, "And in History last week… I saw you doodling him in your notebook and you got the hair all right and- wait- oh my God- so he's real… and you were _doodling _him in your notebook- what the hell, Kurt? Are you, like, cheating on Blaine or something? I mean, I can't say I haven't cheated on anyone before- but, I mean, Kurt, that's not _you-"_ He continued, and Kurt interrupted him.

"Finn! Stop jumping to whatever conclusions you're making, and Puck, wipe that stupid grin off your face or I'll smack it off!" Kurt snapped, and Puck's smug grin fell immediately. "We're not doing- I mean, _God! _I am not cheating on anybody and-"

"I totally approve if you two are getting your naughty, dirty gay sex on." Puck said, regaining his smug grin. "I mean, anybody who calls themselves 'The Doctor' ought to know what they're doing when it comes to-"

Kurt's face was possibly redder then what effect you could get if you smothered that pale face in ketchup. "Stop it, Puck!" He screamed over him.

"You were a little boy five minutes ago." The Doctor chimed in, a look of disgust on his face, looking to Kurt with his burning cheeks. Neither Puck nor Finn knew what to make of this, just fell silent and confused as Kurt dumbly replied, "You're worse than my father."

"I'm worse than everyone's father!" He shot, angrily. The room fell silent for a moment, everyone but Kurt with their jaw hanging open, whereas Kurt just looked for a clever comeback behind his deep scarlet face.

"And that is _not _how I'm introducing myself." He said, directing it too Puck and Finn as he gestured to them with his screwdriver, the top flickering blue light.

"Ohh-kay." Puck muttered, breaking the dense awkwardness. "I can't say I'm not a little confused right now, but whatever."

"Five minutes?" Finn asked.

"It's a figure of speech." Kurt said, even though the man had probably meant it quite literally.

"He's, like, five years older than you, Kurt, tops." Puck clarified. "That's just weird. And anyway, you shouldn't let your boyfriend boss you around like that. Take charge, like a man, woman!"

"He's _not _my-"

_"Shh!" _The Doctor hissed, and Kurt's mouth shut mid-defense. Puck's mom inched towards her son, as though she was terrified by the strange man that had broken into her house. Of course, that sort of reaction was to be expected.

_"Prisonnier Zéro quitter la résidence de l'homme ou de la résidence de l'homme seront incinérés."_

Kurt, being fluent in French, instantly recognized the phrase as what he'd been hearing all day, the translation made clear in his head. "Again?" He whispered wearily.

"Okay, so it's everywhere, in every language. They're broadcasting to the whole world." The Doctor said, silence falling in the room. Puck and Finn looked at each other, both of them raising eyebrows in question.

"Who are _they?_" Kurt asked, but was ignored as the man swung open the sliding glass door, sticking his head out as he looked to the sky.

"What's up there? What are you looking for?" Kurt continued to interrogate him, left ignored.

The Doctor pulled away from the sliding door, leaving it open as he paced back and forth about the room, talking to himself as he ran a hand through his brown hair. "Okay. Nothing but two poles, your basic molten core..." He muttered to himself, his words barely audible to Kurt.

He stood in front of Finn, only an inch away as he examined him, continuing to talk. "First, I'll be assuming they're sending a medium sized starship… that's twenty minutes. What do you think, twenty minutes?"

Finn stood still, his mouth hanging awkwardly open as The Doctor stood on his toes in order to get a good look at Frankinteen and his height that compared to Mount Everest. "Na- nothing you're saying is making any sense." Finn stuttered.

"Yeah, twenty minutes. We've got twenty minutes." He agreed, as though Finn had just stated it so himself.

"Twenty minutes to _what?_" Kurt shouted, frustrated with being ignored.

"I'm just really confused, Kurt… I mean, you made up that story, right? And Burt showed my these cartoons you drew of him when you were, like, _three_, and-"

The Doctor eyed Kurt, and the extravagant color show on Kurt's face began again before The Doctor asked, "Cartoons?"

"Shut up," Kurt hissed at Finn, who obeyed.

The Doctor threw himself on a ratty armchair with soda stains. He stared at the TV almost dreamily, seeming to be deep in thought.

"Noah," The ignored woman that was Puck's mom made herself known again, "Does that boy need medication or something? The tall one who's calling himself The Doctor? Because I don't want him in my house if he's going to go all lunatic on-"

"Mom, shut up, and just go make yourself a freaking pie or something," He jeered at his mother. She looked offended, but walked off with an unconfident limp in her strut.

"Twenty minutes to what, again?" Kurt asked, dismissing Puck and his mother, and the Finn who stood awkwardly, looking like he was torn between sitting on the couch awkwardly next to this strange man or continuing to stand awkwardly.

"The human residence, they're not talking about your house, they're talking about the planet. Somewhere out there, there's a spaceship, and it's going to incinerate the planet." He announced.

"Isn't that a little dramatic? Like, Star Wars dramatic? Possibly a little… not real?" Finn offered, but he was left ignored by The Doctor. Kurt shot him a look. If that boy knew half of what Kurt had just discovered was actually possible today, he wouldn't be asking that question.

"Twenty minutes till the end of the world."

"What _is _this place?" The Doctor complained, walking down the street with a look of disgust, particularly at the dead squirrel in the road they walked over.

"Lima, Ohio." Kurt replied dryly, walking quickly down the street, sarcasm able to find him in even the biggest time of crisis, "A magical land of high school drop-outs and bullying infestations."

"Is there an airport?" He asked, turning the corner of the street until they were walking the sidewalk by a strip mall.

"No." Kurt answered. "Or at least not in a thirty mile radius."

"A nuclear power station?"

"Not since the early eighties, I believe."

"Near a city?"

"Yes, I'd give it twenty minutes by car."

"Do we have a car?"

"Not when my dad is using it."

"Well, that's _great_." He groaned sarcastically, "That gives us twenty minutes to save the world and I've got a McDonald's-" He complained, gesturing to the run down store across the street, "And it's closed!"

Kurt watched him fume. He looked to the clear sky, avoiding eye contact as his brain, again, began to wander the situation.

_So I haven't woken up yet… does this mean he's real? _

"What is that?" The Doctor shouted, snapping Kurt from his train of thought. He ran across the empty street, pointing accusingly at the corroding stone birdbath outside a Goodwill. "What is _that?_"

"A birdbath?" Kurt answered as though it was a trick question.

"Then where are all the birds?" He demanded.

Kurt eyed the birdbath. It was half full of dirty gray water, a glob of pink gum partly submerged. "I don't know, there are never any birds in it."

"Then how do you know it's a bird bath?" He exclaimed.

"It just is!" Kurt shouted back. "Is it important if it's a bird bath?"

"I don't know? Why would I know?" He defended. Kurt watched him suspiciously as he fell over, holding his chest as he tried to control the spasm in his arm, holding it to his leg.

"No, this is too soon, I'm not ready, I'm not done yet." He said to himself. Was this man insane? He'd seemed… just odd, but now Kurt was seriously concerned.

Suddenly, the sky darkened like someone had dimmed the lights. Kurt looked up, expecting to see a storm cloud rolling over the sun, but instead saw nothing extremely out of the ordinary as his vision turned blurry and purple-tinted from staring at the sun. "What's happening? Why's it going dark?"

It only lasted a moment before the light hit again. Kurt felt the panic fade away a bit until he looked at the new sun, almost brighter, bigger. Like someone had made it look close-up. You could easily see the flames on the bright orange mass illuminating everything. "What's wrong with the sun?" Kurt asked, frightened.

"Nothing." He explained, picking himself up from the ground, brushing his pants off as though he _hadn't _just fallen to the ground in a violent spasm. "You're looking at it through a force field. They've shielded off your upper atmosphere, now they're getting ready to boil the planet."

Kurt spun to look at the man to see if he was serious, Kurt's jaw wide open in disbelief. The Doctor dismissed it, chuckling at the people walking out of the strip mall, pointing at them for Kurt.

"Ah, and here they are. The human race. See, when the end comes, as it always going to, it will all go down on _video phone._" He spat, almost frustrated with the lack of intelligence.

Kurt found himself wondering out loud. "This isn't real, is it? You're imaginary. I'm dreaming. The world isn't going to end. I mean, you're just kidding, right?"

"Why would I kid about this?" He asked, looking sincere at Kurt's worry.

"Well, you told me you had a time machine…" Kurt whimpered.

"And you believed me."

"Exactly." Kurt said, running a worried hand through his stiff, styled hair. "But now, I've grown up and-"

"Oh, you never want to do that." He interrupted, shaking his head in disappointment. "Oh! Wait! Shut up!" He shouted, smacking himself in the forehead, leaving Kurt to question it. "I missed it! What did I see- what did I see…" He trailed off, and Kurt stepped back a cautious step.

The Doctor was silent for a moment, staring off into some sort of space. Kurt was ready to interrupt him when he turned around.

"Twenty minutes." The Doctor stated. "I can do it. Twenty minutes- the planet _burns. _Run to your loved ones and say goodbye, or stay and help me." He offered.

Kurt stared at him blankly. He didn't even think before he spoke. "No."

"I- I'm sorry- what?" He asked.

_"Delilah! Delilah! Delilah Bell!" The boy sung, pushing Kurt, hard. _

_Another boy laughed, catching Kurt. "Where's The Raggedy Doctor, now, Kurt? The Raggedy Doctor and his big blue box?" He shouted, tossing Kurt back the other boy like they were playing pass. _

_ "Stop!" Kurt shouted, but he was ignored. He tried to steady his feet for a moment, but he was pushed again. "Stop, please!" _

What? Was Kurt supposed to just take that offer, after _everything_ he'd gone through? Because of _him? _Every five minutes that passed reminded him of hell, all because of _him. _This man, this "Doctor" in his rags, his smug smile and he was so annoyingly _sure _of himself, like he thought Kurt couldn't pass up the opportunity to see him again.

_"We know you had a crush on him, Kurtsie. We know you thought he was hot, hot, hot, and know you're just upset because you can't ever see him again." The boy accused, laughing as he pushed him again. Kurt squeezed his eyes closed, trying to hide tears. _

_"And we know he's never coming back, is he, Delilah. You know why he's never coming back?" Another asked, taking his turn to shove. _

_"Why, Dave?" The boy asked for Kurt, sounding smug, taking his push. _

_"Because nobody comes back to see a stupid fag." _

"No, no, no." Kurt said, shaking his head as he bit his lip, fighting tears. This man- he was just- who did he think he _was?_

_"Please!" Kurt cried, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "It hurts! Stop!" _

_"Don't you get it, Delilah?" The boy asked, shoving Kurt with more force than before, "That's the point!" _

_The other boy didn't catch him this time, so he fell to the ground, his head hitting a stone of the ground. Kurt felt pain surge through his body, and he shuddered. The heartless boys only laughed. _

_"My daddy says the faggots should die." _

Kurt stifled his tears, trying so hard to make them go away. Kurt had thought he would take him away. Kurt had thought he'd never have to see another mean boy again. This man had tricked him into thinking it all might be okay for a while.

_"I agree." The boy said, slapping hands with the other as they walked away, leaving Kurt to his tears and the dirt on the ground. _

But he had lied. Because it would never be okay.

Kurt pressed a finger into the man's chest, shouting, "No!" Tears broke, streaming down his face as he screamed at him, stepping forward as he stepped back, "Never, you damn idiot! You have no idea what you did to me! You have no idea how much it _hurt, _you freaking _idiot._"

"What- what did I-" He started questioning, but Kurt cut him off, swallowing his tears as he tried to put on a brave face.

"Who are you?" Kurt hissed, his finger still jabbed into the taller man's chest.

"You know who I am. I'm The Doctor."

"No, really, who are you?" Kurt demanded. "A name, something, anything. Tell me."

"Look at us here!" The Doctor shot, "Must I remind you the end of the world is in twenty minutes?"

"You better start talking, then!" Kurt shouted over him.

The man paused for a moment. Kurt wished he knew the thoughts streaming through his head. He was so awfully confusing.

Kurt slowly pulled his finger away, not taking his eyes of the man like he might run away. The Doctor shoved his hand in his pocket for a moment, and Kurt's jaw unwillingly dropped when he saw it.

It was only slightly browning on the very edges of the eyes and the smile, but the rest of the apple was fine, as though age hadn't touched it. The Doctor picked up Kurt's hand, holding it out for him as he dropped the apple in it.

"I'm a time traveler." He whispered, sincere. "Everything I told you twelve years ago was true. _I'm real, _Kurt, and what's happening in the sky is real. Now, if we don't go right now, everything you've ever loved is over."

"I don't believe you." Kurt breathed, struggling to get the words out is mouth. "None of this is possible."

The Doctor squeezed Kurt's thin wrists. "Just for twenty minutes. Believe me for twenty minutes." He begged. He noticed Kurt's eyes focused on the apple. "Look at it, fresh as the day you give it to me. And you _know _it's the same one."

Kurt stared into his soft, promising green eyes, finding himself lost in them. They held so much: more than just sincerity. Some sort of understanding, of empathy.

Almost like he knew what it was like to be alone, too.

Kurt stared back and forth, between the smiling apple and the man's promising green eyes. He was torn. Torn between reality and fantasy. He preferred fantasy, of course he did. But he just didn't know if he believed in dreams yet.

_"Blaine, this doesn't exist." Kurt reminded. "That story was a dream. All it was, was a dream. Just a dream."_

_"I resent that, Kurt," Blaine said, folding his arms over his chest and raising a thick eyebrow at him. _

_"What do you resent, exactly?" _

_"Dreams come true, Kurt. All the time." Blaine said. He sounded like he was quoting a Disney movie._

_"Really?" Kurt scoffed, "Give me one example." _

_"You." Blaine said, saying the single syllable like it was so much more than that._

_"What? Come on, Blaine, I'm not a dream." Kurt reproached. _

_"You were." Blaine stated, grabbing Kurt's hand and squeezing it. "You don't think I spent every night for years staring at the ceiling, waiting for this beautiful thing to sweep me off my feet, just like you did? You don't think I spent every night praying I could be blessed with you? Do you know how many times I didn't think you existed, Kurt? How I saw the hope and love diminish before my eyes and I thought you and the feeling you give me was just make-believe for hopeless woman with too many cats? But guess what. Turns out, love is for real. Love was a dream. So of course dreams come true. Why can't this man be real? Just because he seems like a fantasy now doesn't mean he always will." _

"Kurt," He said, putting his other hand over Kurt's wrist. "Believe for twenty minutes."

_Kurt threw his arms around Blaine's neck. "That was the most clichéd thing I've ever heard." _

_Blaine smiled. "But do you believe me?" _

_Kurt bit his lip, "I- I don't know. I mean, love is all well, but time-travelers? Don't you think it's just really, really… impossible?" _

"Please," The Doctor begged.

_"Well, you know what? Dreams come true. Nothing is impossible. Blah, blah, blah. Don't believe my beautiful clichés now, but when he comes back, remember this." _

_Kurt sighed. "He's never coming back, Blaine."_

_"You say that now." He said, smirking. "But when he comes back, you won't." _

Kurt took his free hand, wiping tears away from his pick cheeks with his hand. "What do we do?"

"Stop the private school boy." He said, running off, pulling Kurt behind him by the wrist.

Kurt stuck a stupid grin on his face.

_He's back._


	4. The Eleventh Hour Part Four

A/N:

1. I apologize for the weird updates patterns. I'm trying to fix that, but I can't make any promises.

2. This chapter isn't great. I'm sort of half asleep, sorry. It's decent though, and I hope you can survive.

3. Yay! Hopefully I won't bore you now, because I've put in (somewhat) of my own plot!

4. You guys are just fabulous. I love you. Now go review some more! :)

**The Eleventh Hour: Part Four-**

* * *

><p>Blaine knew this was ridiculous. He knew <em>he<em> was ridiculous- if not clinically insane- and he knew his motives were ridiculous. Nobody takes him seriously. Why, though? He was a freaking private school boy with massive amounts of hair gel. Didn't _that _stereotype count for _something_? Like, maybe, intelligence?

It was immensely annoying- a room of comatosed people shouting for a doctor, despite being- oh, I don't know- _comatosed? _Some sort of weird biological anomaly, and yet, the doctor couldn't even be bothered to glance at Blaine's phone. Not for a single second. A single second that would have made him seem a hell of a lot less insane.

He was still taking pictures. He feared people were really going to start dismissing him as a creeper. But even if he knew no one would ever take a second look at these, it was almost like he was reassuring himself the man he saw at the hospital, lying unconscious on a hospital cot, was actually standing a few feet away from him.

But suddenly, his train of thought diminished as he was pushed to the ground, an unidentified man ripping his phone out of his hand. He fell with a distinguishing _thump, _and he knew that he'd get up to discover grass stains on his last good uniform. It was only his luck.

Before Blaine could say anything, the man started talking, gesturing to Blaine with the phone. He sounded like he was giving Blaine some sort of lecture after randomly stealing his phone. It was actually immensely confusing, really. "The sun's going out, and you're photographing a man and a dog. Why?"

Blaine cautiously picked himself off the ground, brushing dirt of his uniform pants without taking his suspicious eyes of the man. When he stood up, he found Kurt right next to him, leading to an uneven gasp.

Was he dreaming? He really needed to _stop _devouring those tempting Red Vines before bed. It had to be getting to him.

He curiously eyed Kurt and his lack of extravagant clothes. More importantly, the police costume that made up for Marc Jacob's latest.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked, raising a thick and accusing eyebrow at his sudden, unexpected, and out-of-character appearance.

"Oh, uh, this is Blaine." Kurt said, lamely smiling at the man who was fidgeting with Blaine's phone. "A… friend."

"Boyfriend." Blaine corrected. Who was Kurt trying to impress and more importantly, _why?_

"Yeah, that." Kurt said, looking to the sky awkwardly, even if he was the only one experiencing this severe awkwardness. "Whatever."

The man in front of them clapped his hands impatiently to catch their attention. "Come on, man and dog, why?"

"Kurt, what is up with your… uhm… _outfit?_" Blaine asked, inviting himself to pull the plastic badge off Kurt's costume and turn it around in his hands as he smugly smiled at Kurt's embarrassment.

Kurt's cheeks colored and he swatted Blaine's hand away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sorry, but, is that my Halloween costume, Kurt?" Blaine asked, looking greatly amused.

"Maybe." Kurt muttered. "Maybe not."

"Come _on!_" The man shouted, "Man and dog! Why?"

Blaine regarded the man for a quick moment, and he swore he recognized him- the unkempt hair that fell in his face, the torn blue shirt. Something clicked in Blaine's brain, and he gasped.

"Oh my God! Kurt- is that-?" Blaine started.

"_Answer _his _question, _Blaine." Kurt hissed through his teeth.

Blaine laughed. "I'm not imagining this, am I? Is he The Raggedy Doctor? From those stories? Oh my God, this is the most elaborate Red Vine dream I think I've ever had."

Kurt uncomfortably rubbed his neck, looking away, trying to avoid eye contact with The Doctor. Kurt didn't question Blaine's comment about the Red Vines, Blaine tended to make weird statements like that when he let his mask of dapper melt away.

"Uhm, yeah. He came back."

"Kurt!" Blaine shouted excitedly. "I told you so!"

Kurt turned to glare at him. "Thanks." He muttered sarcastically.

Blaine dismissed Kurt's glares. "Is he like, magic, still? Okay, that sounded stupid. But you know what I mean."

"Blaine," Kurt started, "I really-"

"Man and dog!" The man shouted, grabbing Blaine by the collar of his Dalton uniform, pulling the shorter boy up so he was on his toes. "Why?"

"Because he can't be there," Blaine explained hastily, "Because he's-

"In a hospital," They both said at the same time, "In a coma."

"Uh, yeah. That." Blaine mumbled nervously.

The man dropped his collar, straightening it out as he shook his head, talking to himself. "Knew it. Multiform, you see. Disguise itself as anything, but it needs a life feed, a physic link with a living, but dormant, mind."

"I…" Blaine mumbled, at a loss for words as he turned to Kurt. "Was- was that supposed to make sense?"

Kurt squeezed his forearm, sympathetic for his confusion. "It's okay. He's been doing that quite a bit."

Kurt's grip on Blaine's forearm suddenly grew much stronger the second there was a dog bark from behind them. Blaine wondered what was making him so unrealistically jumpy, it was _just _a dog.

Blaine took that thought back immediately when he saw it. Blaine didn't shake off the boy clutching his forearm for dear life, even though the boy was practically cutting off his circulation with his freakishly sharp nails. Blaine watched the supposedly comatosed man he recognized all to dangerously well bark at them, grinding his teeth and hissing as the dog sat by his side, innocent and uninterested.

The Doctor scoffed, turning around and facing the man and his dog like one might do in an old western movie. He shoved his hands in his pockets, confident. "Prisoner Zero," He addressed him, staring him down.

"Wait-" Blaine whispered to Kurt, "There's a Prisoner Zero, too?"

Blaine hated to be hypocritical. But right now, he was honestly wondering if this was a dream. Like he was bound to wake up any moment, and in an hour, he'd be laughing about it with Kurt… right?

"Yes." Kurt said grimly.

Blaine stared at the man and his dog. He seemed so normal, a sort a mechanic-looking man with a stubborn, wrinkled face hanging onto the leash of a somewhat bored-looking dog. Then he started barking and it was all just unreal.

"Blaine," Kurt whispered, nudging Blaine with his elbow. Blaine followed Kurt's eyes to where they stared fearsomely at the sky, and suddenly, his breath caught.

_Too many Red Vines… God, Blaine, never, ever eat those things again._

It was like a giant snowflake in the sky, a huge, metal ship, glimmering in the light of the demented sun. It was rather lovely, all except with the looming feeling of something out of place- and of course, the huge, moving blue eye in the dead center of the thing, scoping the ground with a pale white skylight of sorts.

"See, that ship up there is scanning the area for non-terrestrial technology," The Doctor said, facing off with the man/dog. "And _nothing _says non-terrestrial like a sonic screwdriver."

The Doctor proudly aimed the lit screwdriver at the sky, immediately leading to street lamps on the corner of the street exploding into a mess of yellow sparks, like fireworks, and car alarms frantically going off. The ominous peace of the park turned dramatically into a field of raucous and screaming citizens with that simple notion. Kurt made a tiny screech, burring his face into the shorter boy's uniform-clad shoulder, and Blaine squeezed the boy's shoulder in support, pretending like he wasn't as freaked as Kurt was.

"I think someone's gonna notice," The Doctor stated, shouting over the chaos. All Blaine could see was the man growling in frustration, his teeth furiously mashed as though the ship in the sky was posing the threat that was to be naively assumed. "Don't you?"

The man barked. Blaine felt a violent shiver up his spine.

The Doctor smirked, tilting his hand, intentional or not was to be considered, until the screwdriver was directed to a phone box, which erupted into a plume of energetic sparks, causing Kurt to flinch unnaturally quick, looking up from Blaine's shoulder and biting down dangerously hard on his lip.

The screwdriver itself turned to sparks in a moment, The Doctor cringing as these sparks sweetly landed on his baby blue shirt. He dropped the screwdriver, or rather, threw it to the ground. Kurt and Blaine backed up, dodging sparks.

"No, no, no, _no!" _He shouted, kneeling on the ground as he turned the burnt stick of metal around in his hand, smacking it into the ground. "No, don't _do that!_"

Kurt cautiously let go of Blaine's hand, nearing the man, his head turning in circles as he tried to watch the Doctor and the ship leave at the skies.

"No, come back, he's here!" The Doctor screamed, throwing his hands in the air. Blaine bit his tongue, not because he was trying to hold back any words. Just because he figured if he sparked blood, he'd wake up. "Come back! He's here! _Prisoner Zero is here!_" He shouted, frustrated.

Kurt was occupied with consoling The Doctor, leaving Blaine to glare. His breath caught as the man with the dog smiled, a sort of devious smile you only saw in horror movies. Like a Freddy Kruger kind of smirk, taunting Blaine so he'd walk in for the kill…

Blaine gripped his mop of gelled curls, looking away as he bit down harder on his tongue. Pain ceased to exist when he needed it most.

The Doctor was still shouting words, but they didn't really have any meaning anymore, just a jumbled mess of frustrated syllables.

Blaine wished he never turned around. He knew he'd never forget what he saw right then.

If he'd saw it in a movie, he would have laughed and dismissed it as bad animation. But it was _real. _Ten feet away from him, the man and his dog fell into a million pieces, disappearing into a mist of color and falling down the sewer grate with the wind.

"K-Kurt?" He shouted, wagging his finger at whatever he just witnessed, "Kurt d-did you see that?"

"See what?" Kurt asked, looking to Blaine's fearful face.

"It- it melted… it just melted and went down the drain," Blaine whispered.

The Doctor looked at Blaine, dropping his hands to his sides in sheer frustration. "Well, of course it did!"

"What do we do now?" Kurt shouted.

"It's hiding in human form, we need to drive it into the open… no Tardis, no screwdriver…" He contemplated, looking a tad defeated. "Seventeen minutes… _come on… _think_, think!_"

Kurt backed away, letting The Doctor think as he said he needed to. He squeezed Blaine's shoulder, who was nearly paralyzed in his confusion, and most likely a good deal of fear.

Blaine unconsciously neared the grate, and Kurt followed, squeezing the boy's hand in comfort.

Kurt let his fingers run across the susceptibly dirty grate. He looked back to The Doctor.

"So, that thing…" He asked, "That thing, it hid in my house for twelve years?"

"Multiforms can live for millenniums." He stated, expressionless, from behind them. "Twelve years is a pit stop."

"So how come the same day that thing did… the same _minute?_" Kurt asked, accusing.

"They were looking for him, but they followed me, they saw me through the crack I couldn't fix, they're only late 'cause I am." He said, leaving Kurt confused.

"What is he-" Blaine began, before The Doctor cut him off.

"Private school boy, give me your phone back." The Doctor demanded.

"Kurt, how is he real?" Blaine asked, looking at Kurt with the sorrowful look of an upset kindergartener, his eyes wide and confused. "I thought- I thought he was just a story."

"Phone, now! Gimme!" The Doctor repeated, and Blaine handed his phone over to the outstretched hand with no regrets.

"That's not what you said." Kurt accused. "You said you thought he was real."

"Well, I mean… I don't know. It's easier said than done, right?" Blaine mumbled, playing with his fingers. "Is this a prank? Or some sort of test of courage? Because Kurt, I'm scared."

Kurt uncomfortably swallowed. Kurt was supposed to be the one telling Blaine how scared _he _was, not the other way around.

"I don't know, Blaine… I just… I don't." Kurt admitted.

"These photos, their all the coma patients?" The Doctor said, scrolling through the pictures on Blaine's phone, interrupting Kurt and Blaine's "moment."

"Yes," Blaine said halfheartedly.

"No, they're the multiform. Just disguises for Prisoner Zero." The Doctor corrected.

"He had a dog, though, is there a dog in a coma?" Kurt asked, trying to prove this man's theory wrong.

"Well, if the coma patient dreams he has a dog, Prisoner Zero gets a dog." He stated. Then he looked Kurt, gasping at his new wonderful idea. "Laptop!"

"Your friend! What was his name…" The Doctor asked. "Not this one," he said, waving at Blaine, "the good looking one."

"Oh, thanks." Blaine muttered.

"Uhm, Finn?"

"Oh, _thanks,_"

"It was Finn or Puck."

"Oh, you are freaking _kidding._"

"Oh, he had a laptop, this big laptop! I need Finn's laptop!" The Doctor exclaimed. "You two, get to the hospital, get everyone out of there, clear the whole ward, phone me when you're done!"

The Doctor ran off in the other direction before Kurt could ask any questions. He looked to Blaine, who'd seemed to regain his cool.

"Your car, com'mon," Kurt said, pulling on his shoulder.

"But we can't do that! You don't just go to a hospital and tell them to evacuate!" He shouted, but Kurt ran to Blaine's truck, ignoring him. "_Kurt!_"

He figured he had no choice, and ran after the stubborn boy. Kurt pulled him into the car, chanting for him to hurry as he sped down the road to the hospital.

* * *

><p>"Puck… I don't know if we should… you know… be doing this…" Finn complained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and trying to hide the blush on his cheeks.<p>

"Why?" Puck taunted, "Mommy wouldn't like it?"

"No… it's just… I have a girlfriend…" He protested.

"Yes, you do. I dated Rachel, once, too, you know. I made out with, like, ninety chicks, and she never found out, did she? So looking at a bikini or two isn't gonna kill you. All you ever do is goddamn _worry. _Calm down for a minute, dude, and enjoy what Rachel doesn't have."

Finn's cheeks colored darker as Puck scrolled through the images, and watched Puck laugh, trying to avert his eyes from the computer screen. "Ha! Okay, so I guess that's a little less than a bikini!"

"Ha…" Finn muttered, "Yeah…"

Puck, that looked as though his eyes would have been permanently glued to the computer screen if he hadn't been distracted, suddenly looked up when the door flew open, crashing against the wall.

"Hello! Laptop, gimme!" The man standing under the door shouted, standing dramatically in the door frame before he snatched the computer right out of Puck's hands.

"What the hell?" Puck shouted at the man as he sat on the bed.

"Are we being, like, mugged?" Finn asked, worrisome, backing up against the bedframe.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Puck screamed in frustration, standing up on the bed as he pulled violently on the man's shoulder. The man looked behind him, stopping his pounding on the keyboard, raising an eyebrow that said, _do you really want to do that? _

"Stop that." The man instructed, looking sort of pissed.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out! Give me my goddamn computer!" He screamed, punching the man's back.

"Wait, Puck!" Finn shouted, grabbing Puck so he couldn't further harm the man who'd turned around from the screen again, giving him a questioning look as he mouthed, 'Ow!'

"What?" Puck snapped, pushing Finn off him so Puck's hopeless punching on the man's back turned to a wrestle with Frankinteen.

"Hey!" Finn yelled, pushing Puck back. "That's Kurt's friend, I think! Now stop freaking out!"

Puck stopped, panting a bit as he scanned the man, folding his arms over his chest. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "You're right."

"What are you doing?" Finn mumbled, sounding like he was trying to ration with the man as though he was a child.

"The suns gone all weird, so that means, somewhere, right now, there's gonna be a big ol' video conference call." He explained, and glared at the screen a moment more, before adding, "Is this really what teenage boys do together? This is horrifying."

Finn's cheeks flushed.

"All the experts in the world are going to be panicking," he continued, pounding on the laptop keys, opening weird screens on the computed and writing codes that suggested he was hacking something of some sort. Finn had seen it done in movies before. "And do you know what they need?"

The Doctor stared at them, smug, waiting for them to ask, _who?, _but they answered with rapid blinking, trying to keep up with what he was saying so he finished with, "Me."

"Ah!" He exclaimed, pointing to the words on the blue windows on the computer screen. "And here they all are! All the big boys… NASA, Tokyo Space Station, Patrick Moore."

"Who's Patrick Moore?" Finn wondered aloud, and Puck smacked him on the back of his head, despite not translating a word this man was saying, either.

"You can't just hack in on a call like that." Puck accused.

"You can't drive off with an ATM in the back of your truck, either." Finn muttered sarcastically. "I guess we're just _defying gravity _here, aren't we?"

Puck shot him a death glare, but Finn just scoffed and looked away.

Puck stared at the screen, wide-eyed, as an array of faces lit up his computer screen. The man held a badge to the camera, and the various faces nodded on screen. Finn literally gasped, like a little girl.

_"This is a secure call, what are you doing here?" _A man on the computer complained. Puck and Finn glanced at each other- _God, he really did just hack a call on NASA, didn't he? _

"Yeah, I know, you should switch me off," The Doctor said knowingly, "But before you do, watch this."

The Doctor began to pound on keys again. _Isn't this illegal? _

Finn heard something about a theorem. A lot of really big words come out of this man's mouth- and not even stuff like _quantum physics and construction of matter- _a lot of weird words he hadn't even heard his science teacher murmur before. He rambled on for a moment about diagrams and proof about _this and that and this. _In all honesty, Finn just dismissed his ramblings as a foreign language. But then there was something about, "Oh, a goody, why electrons have mass," which Finn could slightly recall from seventh grade science classes he'd mostly slept through, so he must have been speaking English.

It was all very confusing. But it was really okay, because he ended with, "And a _joke!_"

"Look at your screens, wherever you are," He continued, now speaking more legible words that were up for interpretation. "Just look at it, I'm a genius. You know you need all the help you can get. Now, fellas, pay attention."

* * *

><p>"Blaine!" Kurt screamed, smashing his palm against the dashboard in anticipation.<p>

_"What?" _Blaine snapped, glaring at the stubborn red lights in front of him. He had no idea what he was doing. He hadn't had coffee this morning. He was still convinced he was dreaming. Overall, he wasn't in the best mood, and the Kurt who'd swallowed a bag of jumping beans somewhere between the park and the car certainly wasn't helping.

"That coat! That ugly brown peacoat you keep in the backseat! I need it!" Kurt shouted.

Blaine jerked the car forward as the light changed, causing both of their heads to slam against the back of the seat. "God, Blaine! You're going to get us killed! Slow down!"

"Okay!" Blaine shouted. "Yes, and, yeah, just go get the coat or whatever."

"Thanks! Thank you so much!" Kurt worshiped, unbuckling as he climbed into the back of the car.

_In the freaking middle of traffic. _

"Why do you need it?" Blaine asked out of curiosity, though, mostly to distract him from the problem at hand. Alien invasions and lost childhood dreams and impatient Kurt's and-

"Blaine! Hurry up, at this pace the world will be over by the time we reach the next turn!"

Neither of them was doing very well at this given moment in time.

Blaine's eyebrows rose dramatically in frustration. He tried to ignore the fact Kurt was crawling around his cramped car, looking for a stupid coat.

"And I need it because I feel like an idiot in this _thing_." Kurt explained, plopping in the back seat of the car as he found the coat under the seat.

"Kurt! You just told me the world is ending in fifteen minutes and you're worried about a goddamn _coat?_" Blaine fumed.

"Sorr-rey." Kurt complained. "I'll give you a kiss of the cheek later, if that's what you want."

The eternal screaming of Blaine droned on.

* * *

><p><em>"Excuse me, sir, what <em>are_ you doing?" _A man on the computer screen questioned.

The Doctor lamely looked up from the phone he was rapidly testing on, noting the people on the computer as though he'd just noticed they were there.

"I am writing a computer virus." He stated.

_What? Is this for real? _Puck wondered. _A man… broke into my house with Kurt, a gay guy in Glee who probably checks out my ass when I'm not looking… said some stuff that sounded terribly perverted… ran off… broke in again, alone… looked like he was going to jump me for a minute there… stole my laptop and my sexy ladies… hacked into a private call between NASA and the government… and ripped a cell phone out of his pocket and started writing a computer virus. _

Puck was still waiting for the trolls with blue afros to jump out and start paying his mom's unpaid taxes. Finn looked sort of like he was expecting the same thing, more or less, except he refused to close his mouth, looked like an idiot, and Puck swore he just saw a bug fly right in there.

"Very clever, super-fast, and a tiny bit of lies- and why am I writing it on a phone?" The Doctor continued, asking the questions for them in a sort of arrogant way. "You'll find out!

"Okay, I'm sending this to all your computers. Get everyone who works for you sending this everywhere- E-mail, Facebook, text, Twitter, radar. Whatever you've got. Any questions?"

Yes.

_"What exactly does this virus do?" _

The man said something again about resetting counters and Wi-Fi. How it'd make stuff turn to zeros. Puck's brain was starting to cramp, and you could practically hear the gears straining to move in Finn's head.

"But yeah, I could be lying. So why trust me?" The Doctor asked.

Puck looked to The Doctor, waiting to hear the explanation for this one.

"I'll let my best men explain." He stated. Both Puck and Finn stood still, waiting for said 'best men.'

"You two," he whispered cautiously to the two boys, looking away from the camera to them. Puck would have sworn he'd forgotten them until now. "You're my best men."

Finn's eyes went wide. _"What?" _He hissed, mimicking the man's hushed tone.

The Doctor lowered the lid of the computer, turning to them.

_Whoa, this guy just excused himself from a freaking call _he _hacked. He means goddamn business. _

"Listen to me," He said, standing up so he could put an arm over both of their shoulders in support. "In ten minutes, you two are going to be legends. In ten minutes, anyone on that screen will offer you any job you want. But first, you have to be magnificent. You have to make them trust you and get them working. This is it, boys, right here, right now."

The man stretched a dramatic hand in front of them, as if gesturing to the future or some other greatness. "This is when you _fly._ Today is the day you save the world."

Finn looked at this man, almost untrusting, doubting the ability of himself to match up to the greatness this man described. "Why us?"

"It's your bedroom." He suggested, shrugging as he patted them both on the back. "So, go! On with it, boys!"

The man dashed out of the room with pristine precision, avoiding all unasked questions and other obstacles.

Puck and Finn stared at the laptop sitting on the bed as though it posed a threat. Puck was the one who broke the tense atmosphere after a moment, grabbing Finn's shoulder and squeezing it. He closed his eyes as he murmured, as the fate of the world rested on this question.

"Finn, you think NASA can provide me with a mob of Playboy bunnies who will follow me at my every whim?"

Finn bit his lip, thinking this through. After a few seconds, he nodded.

"Then let's do this crap!" Puck chanted, opening the laptop, sitting down on the bed as he placed it on his lip. Finn looked over his shoulder, kneeling behind him.

"Oh! And boys!"

Puck and Finn looked to the man, standing again in the door. "Yeah?" Puck asked.

"Delete your Internet history."

* * *

><p><em>Goal: To get to the coma ward. From there, get everyone evacuated, even if it means posing a homicidal rage. Or something like that. <em>

_Motivation: Still not quite sure. Something to do with the world ending in twelve minutes. _

_Obstacle: Groups of doctors freaking out. Yellow caution tape blocking the stairs. A screaming woman and a guard blocking the elevator. No one's getting anywhere, and the security guards are making this painfully clear. _

_How to defeat said obstacle: Figure it out as you go. _

"My, uh, my mom! My mom is in the coma unit, I think, sir." Blaine frantically explained, running a stressed hand through his gelled-down curls.

The nurse who'd just stopped short with the sight of Blaine gave him a sympathetic look, pressing a clipboard to his chest. "I'm sorry, but something is going on upstairs. The doctors can't tell me-"

"Please!" Kurt begged, grabbing the man's forearm so he couldn't walk away. "Please, sir, we saw this thing outside. My friend here, he thinks the world is going to end, and after what I just saw, I can't say I disagree. He had to see his mom again. She's been so ill, and he just has to feel her touch one more time before everything ends. _Please, _sir. For his _mother. _What harm could it _possibly _do to let a boy- who I should probably add has a horrendous stress disorder- see his dying mother for the last time?"

Whoa. Kurt was so good at lying, Blaine almost believed it himself.

Oh, God. And now Kurt was batting his eyelashes, striking tears in the bottom of his big ocean eyes, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit until no living creature could beat this puppy dog face. It was adorable and awfully depressing at the same time.

The nurse looked a little concerned, and with a look at Blaine, a little skeptical. Kurt stepped on Blaine's toes, and Blaine snapped out of his Kurt-affiliated haze.

Blaine started jumping on his heels to dramatize this newfound stress disorder, fisting his hair. Kurt thought _he_ could act? Ha.

"K-Kurt," Blaine stuttered, looking up at the ever-so-slightly taller boy with wide eyes. He drummed his fingers against his thigh. Suddenly, he looked like he downed twenty coffees to many. "Kurt, I- I need m-my mum," He stuttered, tears welling up in his voice like a kindergartener... so maybe he was being a tad melodramatic. Whatever.

Kurt rubbed Blaine's back. "I know, Blaine, calm down, you'll see her soon."

"I- I am _so _sorry, boys," The nurse said, looking truly concerned. "I can't let you go any further for security reasons. I mean, we wouldn't want-"

Blaine broke out into sobs.

"Oh my God, Kurt, my mom, I'm never going to see my mom again, Kurt, Kurt, never, ever, ever, again." Blaine cried, shoving his face into Kurt's shoulder. "Kurt, we're all going to die and I'm going to die never seeing my mom again-"

"Uhm, son," the nurse questioned, rubbing the back of his neck and not taking his eyes off Blaine, "he doesn't have a history with panic attacks, does he? Or is this-"

_"Kurt!" _Blaine screamed into Kurt's coat that smelt mysteriously like his car floor and gummy bears that you left out in the sun too long. "I'm never going to see my mom again!"

Kurt wrapped an arm around Blaine's neck, rubbing his back, but a little fierce when he said, "No, doctor, Blaine does _not _have a history of panic attacks and he _doesn't need to undergo _any _medicine or anything._"

Blaine caught on quick, perhaps a little too quick, because he bobbed his head up and wiped his cheek of fake tears. "No. No, I don't need-"

"Blaine." Kurt snapped. "No, you don't. Now, sir, would you please let my friend here see his mother one more time-"

"Boys, I'm sorry, I understand what's like to be away from your family in a crisis, but I can't do anything and I have to go." The nurse said, pulling his arm out of Kurt's already faltering grasp, and walking away.

Kurt glared holes into Blaine when the man had left, Blaine's face innocent and red from forced tears. "Nice going, drama queen. What was that?"

"I was acting! You said I had a stress disorder so I thought that meant-"

"But you don't just have a panic attack in the middle of a freaking hospital!" Kurt hissed. "But whatever, because I doubt he would go let us go up, anyway. Should I call him?"

Blaine rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, dramatizing his exhaustion. "Yeah, just, whatever."

"No need to be so grumpy about it."

"Sorry, I'm just, this is all so _weird. _I don't know what we're trying to be doing and I've been told the world is going to end in ten minutes and I have no idea whether to believe it or not. I might be a freaking nut case right now, but you can't deny I have an excuse." Blaine complained.

Kurt shrugged, a sort of apology implied with this motion. "I get it. Just… don't screw this up. Honest to God, I have no idea whether or not to believe any of this or not. I've started to fall under the notion of it, but I can't say I'm completely faithful in the idea of the world ending in ten minutes, despite the fact I just saw a man bark and an alien ship and a dream that haunted me throughout the majority of my childhood.

"Okay, I have to call him now. No time to lose over contemplating this. It's real or it's not, and if it's real, I'll just have to kill someone because I died over wondering over whether or not I'll die." Kurt said, whipping out his cell phone and dialing Blaine's number. Blaine nodded in agreement, leaning against a blue wall of the somewhat chaotic room. At least most of the chaos had been concealed to the opposite side of the wide room, where a woman was having probably a _real _panic attack; throwing punches at a security guard two times her size and a frustrated doctor holding her back.

Kurt sighed with relief as the phone picked up on the first ring. One less thing he had to worry about.

"Doctor, we're at the hospital and we can't get through."

"Ah, yes, let me guess- because the place is in an utter commotion over the ship that was just outside, and there is an unknown mystery haunting the upstairs, no one will let you up due to this fact. Doctors are panicking and at least one person is having a full on panic attack."

"How- how'd you know?" Kurt wondered, dumbstruck.

"The situation is rather predictable. This had happened a thousand times in human history and the always react the same way: a lack of conscious in the moment and a distinct stubbornness towards the event of their own death. Anyway, have you tried getting their sympathy? Pulled away the most vulnerable looking official and melted his heard with tears?"

"Yes," Kurt sighed. "To no avail."

"I was afraid of that. I knew it wouldn't work, so much going on right now my creativity is lacking… okay… coma unit… upstairs or downstairs?"

"Up. Two floors." Kurt responded.

"Ah… okay, that's no use. The stairs are locked off. Oh… com'mon, com'mon…"

Kurt carefully breathed into the phone, waiting patiently for an answer.

And that was when he heard the bloodcurdling scream that literally sent him jumping a foot in the air.

Of course, it was to be expected. In a situation like this, a scream like that would of occurred three minutes ago. Add to the suspense. Build tension. Kurt didn't think much of it- just dismissed it as the crazy woman across the room and her antics- until in front of his, Blaine tensed up and muttered in a short, almost silent breath. _"My mom." _

"What?" Kurt spluttered. "Your mom? Where is she? That was her?"

"Oh my God," Blaine murmured. "That must be her, she must of comeback already, I didn't she would- oh, and she's upstairs, Kurt, with her friend… in the coma- _Kurt, she's on the same floor as that thing and she just screamed._"

"Blaine, wait a second, calm down- how do you know that's your mom?" Kurt rationed, not pulling the phone away from his ear. He knew The Doctor heard every word they were saying- he must be.

"I just know." Blaine said. He didn't bother to add the fact that his mom made that exact same shriek when Blaine was fourteen and he told his father he was gay and she tried to stand up for Blaine. That same exact shriek left her lipstick-reddened lips when his hand made harsh contact with her face, and a similar sound when the man continued in his rage and smacked Blaine across the face. He didn't mention about the memories of that night that had been burned into his brain, or the memories of her scream two years later when they finally broke apart and he pushed her into a bookcase before storming out. Now wasn't the time or place to talk about this. Right now, Blaine just needed to help his mother. Because his mother only made that deafening sound in a time of crisis.

In that moment, Blaine came completely and utterly convinced the world was going to end in ten minutes if he didn't get up there. The sharp reality of the danger his mother was in hit him a tad dramatically, but he pushed through the crowds surrounding the stairs like they were nothing and ran through the neon yellow caution tape like it was the finish line of a race.

"He- he ran off." Kurt stated blankly for The Doctor, staring after the boy running up the stairs and the one or two men who had noticed him not doing anything but shouting, "Hey! Come back down!" before dismissing him.

"Well then," The Doctor said. "That was easy. A lot easier than expected, but go follow him!"

"Okay…" Kurt murmured, getting a little antsy as he saw Blaine turn the corner of the stairs, leaving his sight. "You on your way?"

"Don't worry. I've accommodated a vehicle." He said.

"Beautiful." Kurt said before snapping the phone shut, and looking both ways before he booted it up the stairs. In the midst of the commotion, only a few uncaring souls even recognized his actions.

"Blaine! Blaine, wait up!" Kurt screamed, darting up the stairs. He doubted Blaine heard anything.

Kurt barely noted his own panting as he skidded down the hallway, and came to a sudden stop when the fog of artificial cleaner and plastic rubber gloves hit him. His breath caught, and he grazed the mint blue walls, catching his breath as ungrateful memories of his father's heart attack the year before flooded his mind. The coma unit was the last thing he wanted to be familiar with, and yet, it was like coming across an old high school bully. Painfully nostalgic, and with a quick hate for the thing, once again.

"Blaine?" Kurt shouted down the long and empty hallway, his voice a little strained and quieter than before. Slowly, he walked down the ominously empty corridor. It looked like it had been hit by a tornado, papers strewn about the floor and machinery carelessly knocked to its side. Kurt felt the clichéd shiver run through him, and even though it was hot inside this coat in the spring air, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Blaine, where are you?" Kurt repeated.

Finally, he turned the right corner, and saw Blaine standing there, motionless and out of breath. Kurt's relief dissolved immediately, though, when he saw that he was facing off with a woman across the hallway.

He knew something was wrong. It wasn't intuition- it was obvious.

"Sir, the doctor, I think he's dead. Someone's in there, a man, a man with a dog- there's another woman in there and I think he might be hurting her." The woman spoke, her arm wrapped comfortably around another woman's shoulder. The silent woman was solemn, her head hung low, draped with dark brown curls.

"It's Prisoner Zero, right, Blaine?" Kurt whispered from behind him, nearing the boy who stood frozen in place. "I'm calling The Doctor. Prisoner Zero must be in there."

The phone rung, and Kurt tried to empathetically rub Blaine's shoulder. He didn't know why this boy was so strange all the sudden, probably shocked by the sound of his mother, but why had he stopped and why did he refuse to move?

"Are you in?" The Doctor asked as the phone picked up, sirens blaring behind him.

"Yeah." Kurt said, and Blaine looked up at him, hurt in his eyes. It was like he was waiting for something. "And I think that Prisoner Zero is, too."

"You need to get out of there!" He demanded.

"You just told us to get up! We finally got up and now-"

"Kurt," Blaine interrupted. Kurt fell silent.

"That's Prisoner Zero." Blaine whispered. "She's my mom's friend, the one in the coma."

Kurt stared at Blaine. He knew it was more than that- the pain in his eyes was more than just a fear of seeing someone he dimly knew possessed. It was pain. Not fear or shock or confusion. There was one emotion in those big hazel eyes, and it sent Kurt into a deep spiral of his own little depression for a moment there.

"And the one she has her shoulder over is my mom."

* * *

><p><strong>Just a friendly reminder... review?<strong>


	5. This isn't even a update

I'm blaming book camp.

You know nothing good can come of book camp. You expect cute British boys with thick-rimmed glasses and an obsene love for the same geeky shows you like. You pray to God he isn't gay and then you fall in love.

Nah. I just got a lot of lectures about The Oddessy I could have lived without and a room with a cocky girl who complained about how her parents sent her there and would persistantly cuss any moment a teacher turned their head.

Anyway, I went for one week. I got distracted, and four weeks later, I remembered THIS.

I can't do it anymore. I'm an evil, evil person with no responsibility. But all inspiration has left me, and every time I try to write again, I end up staring at a blank page for a few hours. It's not working.

So, I'm done. This is my formal letter of QUIT. I mean, Doctor Who is on hiatus and Glee ended until next season. I have nothing to live for. I'm a depressed heap who can't carry on a simple story.

Sorry. Sorry you got excited and thought this was an update and sorry your probably uspet with me. Just don't burn me on a stake. I like my life, I do.

Thank you all, though, for the _amazing_ reviews and sticking with me for this long.

The gist: You're lovely and I'm not finishing this story.

Sorry.

(This isn't even edited! I'm terrible.)

-Mae

Psssssttt! Anyway, it's not over! My story was adopted! Go check out **funkyorange**'s continuation of Fabulous In Tardis Blue!


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